


No Refunds

by thesmileofawinchester



Series: No Refunds [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coma, Comatose Castiel, Falling Castiel, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, M/M, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Supernatural Season 07, Temporary Character Death, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 65,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesmileofawinchester/pseuds/thesmileofawinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set following 7.10, Castiel returns (very temporarily) in the body of a 20 something year old girl. Dean? He’s still angry at the angel. But he’s not the only one.</p><p>With something powerful and angry hunting down Castiel, the Winchesters try their best to forgive the angel and to keep him safe. Unfortunately, it's not so easy when he's slowly losing his grace...</p><p>Destiel undertones, with some slight overtones. </p><p>
  <i> He didn't recognise the person. It was a woman of about twenty, tanned with mousy blonde hair, and she stood, swaying on the step. Her eyes were rolling back into her head, but she focused when she saw Dean.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Dean." She slurred, grasping his arm and stumbling forwards. Dean grabbed the shotgun, untrusting. Sam stood up, trying to see. "Dean, Dean..." She repeated, the name slurring together. "I'm... I'm..." She stumbled again, a faltering step inside, and she grabbed harder to his arm, attempting to stay upright. She grabbed his shoulder too, and pulled herself straight, to look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry."</i>
</p><p><i>Her eyes rolled back and closed as she fell, collapsing into his arms. </i><br/>Originally on ff.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They were in another sleazy motel. They seemed to always be in one or another, and they were all exactly the same. Two beds, a television, and some bizarre separator stuck in the middle of the room. The boys could easily navigate the rooms blindfolded, if necessary.

After everything they had been through, it seemed that these motels were the only constant in their lives. They had lost so many friends; Bobby, Cas... the Impala. The motel rooms now took the place of the car, the familiar rooms comforting, in a stagnant way.

Sam looked over to his sleeping brother in the next bed as he put on his shoes. It was half six in the morning, the time that he always got up for a run, not long after Dean would finally get in from drowning his sorrows at whatever local hovel there was. Sam had been with him once or twice, to keep an eye on him, to perhaps glean some drunken insight into him, but he rarely struck anything deep. It was mainly just Dean's drunken insights on cleavage.

Dean claimed he was fine. Dean said he would punch Sam if he kept asking how he was.

Dean was lying. Sam knew that much.

He sighed and laced his shoes, ready to go for a run. He would let Dean sleep for a few hours before he woke him up, not that there was anything really to get up for. Just the usual – evading Leviathans whilst trying to figure out how to kill them.

Sam frowned. They knew Borax did something to them, and Bobby had said just before... he had said that they could kill each other by forcing them to eat themselves. Surely there must be something in that.

He shook his head and stood up, stretching, and looked back over to Dean. He was twitching in his sleep again, his hands grasping the sheets slightly, his brow furrowed. He did that a lot, but whenever Sam brought it up, he was only answered with flippant remarks, and a threatened punch.

In a few hours Dean would wake up from a nightmare, Sam knew, so he left to run in the meantime. He'd be back before sleeping beauty woke up.

He was right. When he got back into the room at 8, sweaty and in need of a shower, Dean was still asleep. He had rolled over, and the covers were wrapped around him tightly, though had fallen off on one side, leaving his right leg exposed. He was still frowning.

Sam showered quickly, aware of how fast hot water could run out in cheap motels. Despite everything they'd been through, the slings and arrows shot at them, the painful torture and all the broken bones, Sam still hated it when the water ran cold. It was the little things, he guessed.

When he left the bathroom, towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Dean was awake, blearily blinking in the dull light.

"What time is it?"

"About half 8." Sam guessed. "What time did you get in?"

"Wasn't counting." Dean told him gruffly, attempting to sit up, though his head was thumping like hell. "Shoulda been there, Sammie; the women there..." Dean whistled.

"Not listening, Dean."

"I mean the rack on this one girl-" He motioned with his hands across his chest, indicating that the woman was well endowed in that particular area.

"I really don't care."

"What's got your panties in a twist, Sammie?" Dean teased. "Get shampoo in your eyes again?"

"Nothing."

"Well, fantastic." Dean grumbled, swinging his legs from the bed. "Have we got anything?"

"For..."

"For my head? It's killing me."

"Don't be such a baby." Sam told him.

"Whatever." Dean stood, stumbling towards the tap and, turning it on, drank straight from the faucet. Once he was done he sloppily wiped his mouth and looked back at his brother. "So, why are we here? We got a case?"

"I don't think so." Sam said. "It looked like there might have been a haunting, but I looked into it yesterday. Just a publicity stunt."

"Great." Dean said. "As if we don't have enough to deal with without people just making things up!"

"Yeah, well." Sam said. "You may as well sleep in. Nothing to do here. I'll keep looking."

"No, I'm up." Dean told him.

"Bad dreams again?" Sam asked casually, but Dean didn't reply. Instead there was a heavy banging on the door, followed by a rattling on the handle.

"Get it." Dean said, sitting down.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You get it. You're dressed."

"You know the cleaner wouldn't mind." Dean winked, remembering the previous morning when the overweight, middle aged cleaner had slipped her number to him.

"Shut up. Get the door."

"Chicken." Dean said, and walked to the door, a lifetime of hangovers having given him enough practise to walk across the room steadily whilst in such a state. Making sure his hand was in easy reach of the shotgun placed beside the door, a safety precaution, he opened it, wincing as the sunlight reached his eyes.

He didn't recognise the person. It was a woman of about twenty, tanned with mousy blonde hair, and she stood, swaying on the step. Her eyes were rolling back into her head, but she focused when she saw Dean.

"Dean." She slurred, grasping his arm and stumbling forwards. Dean grabbed the shotgun, untrusting. Sam stood up, trying to see. "Dean, Dean..." She repeated, the name slurring together. "I'm... I'm..." She stumbled again, a faltering step inside, and she grabbed harder to his arm, attempting to stay upright. She grabbed his shoulder too, and pulled herself straight, to look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes rolled back and closed as she fell, collapsing into his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

"Help me out here, Sammie." Dean called over, grunting under the weight. Not that she was particularly heavy, in fact she was very petite, but her whole weight was resting onto him, and Dean was stumbling backwards.

Sam stood up and helped place her onto Dean's bed. "Who's that?"

"Not a clue."

"She seemed to know you."

"Yeah, I hate it when they do that." Dean grumbled. "What do you think?"

Sam surveyed her, frowning. She couldn't have been more than 5"5, and, dressed in jeans, a pale t-shirt, a black jacket and some heeled shoes, she looked very unassuming. Her light hair fanned out in almost a halo like style around her head, and she even had a smattering of freckles across her nose. "She doesn't look... dangerous."

"Yeah, well, they've surprised us before."

"Then we'll check." Sam pulled one of their bags out, pulling out some items. He began with an iron stake, resting it against her arm. No reaction, no blistering skin.

"One down." Dean said.

Next Sam took out a silver knife and laid it flat against her skin. Once again, nothing happened. The same occurred with holy water, and finally Borax.

"So. She's human?"

"Maybe." Dean said, still not trusting her. He opened her jacket and checked the pockets, and, after finding nothing but a pair of gloves, he did the same for her jeans. There was nothing but lint. He frisked her briefly, but stopped when he noticed Sam glaring.

"What? She might have something concealed."

"Sure." Sam sighed.

"We can't be too careful!" Dean grinned, but took his hands off of her leg. He sat back onto Sam's bed, looking at the girl. "So, what do we do?"

"Wake her up?" Sam suggested.

"I dunno, shouldn't we tie her up first?" Dean frowned, unsure. Like Sam, he didn't quite know what to do with their mysterious visitor. Though, he thought triumphantly, this was the least he'd ever had to work to get a girl passed out on his bed.

"Is there any need?" Sam questioned. "She doesn't look like she's looking for a fight."

They both looked at her again. She hadn't moved, but at least the slight movement of her chest moving up and down told them she was still breathing. Dean grimaced and moved towards her, while Sam grabbed the shot gun, aiming it at the girl.

"Um..." Dean knelt, face level with hers, and gingerly shook her shoulder. He berated himself for being so scared of this seemingly harmless girl, when he barely flinched at things that were actually terrifying. "Lady? Wake up."

She rolled her head and moaned, stirring in her sleep.

"Look, you came to us."

"Dean, maybe we should take her to a hospital?" Sam suggested. They hadn't considered that yet.

"Dean..." The girl murmured in her sleep. He raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm Dean. I'm right here." He tried. He attempted to remember if he'd ever met her before, but he was coming up with nothing.

Suddenly, the girls eyes opened wide. "Dean."

"Yeah?" He moved back a bit, and she looked straight at him. "Dean, it's you."

"Yeah we covered that bit." He agreed. "Who are you?"

She sat up, slowly, and moved back so she was resting against the headboard. "Of course. You don't recognise me." She said slowly, deliberately. Each word was measured and calculated, weighed up before she said it. It reminded him of someone, and something uneasily stirred in his chest.

She looked at him in the eyes, staring, completely focused, unblinking. Then, she spoke.

"It's me, Dean. I'm Castiel."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know what to do. He just sat there, unmoving.

After a few seconds of silence Sam spoke.

"Cas?"

The girl slowly took her eyes from Dean and looked at Sam. "It's me."

"But... how?" Sam sat down. "You exploded."

"That was a most unpleasant experience." She winced, and put her hand to her head, swaying again.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam moves to help, but doesn't know what to do.

"This vessel. It's imperfect, in fact, an abomination." Castiel sighed. "I need to get my previous form back."

"Can you even do that?" Sam asked. "I mean, the last we saw..."

"I brought you both back from hell, physically unharmed." Castiel reminded. "If I can only find the vessel, it will work."

Sam looked to his brother, who was sitting silently on the bed. He hadn't said a word, he'd barely moved. He was just looking at the woman, looking at Cas.

"We'll help you find him." Sam offered, unsure what to say.

"I'm grateful." Cas winced, clutching her stomach. "This does not feel pleasurable." She gasped, and began convulsing, and a hand covered her mouth.

Finally Dean moved. He nudged with his foot the rubbish bin that was between the two beds so that it was in easier reach of Cas, with not a second to spare. Cas doubled over and vomited into the bucket, expelling a substance that was a little too red for Sam's liking. Dean's hands clenched the bed a bit, but he didn't move other than that.

"Guess we gotta get moving then." Sam said, when Cas appeared to be finished.

"Wait." Dean finally spoke, and both looked to him, though Castiel with bleary eyes and a dishevelled manner. "How do we know you're Cas?"

"Dean..." Sam said, but Dean ignored him.

"Prove it."

"How would you like me to do so?" The girl asked, the same carefully measured voice as before, though significantly more strained, and if possible, weaker.

Dean shook his head slightly and hung it. "I dunno. Tell me something only Cas would know."

The girl was silent for a moment, breathing deeply to steady herself. "You took me to a den of iniquity. You would not let me die without..." Cas trailed off, glancing uncomfortably towards Sam. "You said it was the most fun you had had in years."

Dean blinked, and Sam waited expectantly for his answer. The silence in the room was palpable. Finally he spoke. "Okay then." He said gruffly. He hadn't thought about that in a long time – it had been so long since Cas had been a happy thought... but this girl, sitting meekly in front of him, claiming to be him... it was too much. "Let's go."

They got into the ugly car that was parked out front. Cas was put in the backseat, lying down, with another bin from the motel on the floor, lest she succumbed to sickness again. Sam and Dean rode in the front, Dean driving, with his music turned up loud.

Sam noticed that Castiel was wincing, and that it correlated with particularly noisy parts of the songs that were playing.

"Dean."

"Can't hear you, Sammie."

"Kind of my point." Sam told him, gesturing behind. "Turn it down."

Dean rolled his eyes, and after a second obliged. Cas opened her eyes briefly in thanks, but a bump in the road made her squeeze them shut again, her fists clenching tightly at her chest. They drove in silence, apart from the quiet music, for about ten minutes until Sam spoke.

"I think he's asleep. She. I dunno."

Dean didn't say anything.

"Look, I know this has got to be hard-"

"Why? Because the guy betrayed us? Because he invited Leviathans over for dinner? Because he lied to us?" He clutched the steering wheel tightly.

"That, and because he's your friend."

"No he's not." Dean denied furiously.

"And you thought he was dead, but now he's back." Sam sighed. "Most people would be happy."

"Cas burnt those bridges, Sam." Dean shook his head. "I can't cross them."

"I think you're being unreasonable." Sam told him.

"And I think you're being an asshole."

They drove in silence for a while longer. The cassette ran out, but Dean didn't bother changing it. The last one hadn't brightened his mood any. It was an hour and a half before anyone spoke again.

"Dean, can you pull over?" Sam asked.

"Why?"

"I gotta go, you know." Sam insinuated, and Dean rolled his eyes, but consented to pull over. Sam got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, resting his elbow on the door.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped. Cas hadn't spoken since the motel room. He didn't reply.

"I want you to know I am truly sorry, Dean. For everything."

"Well, it's easy to say that now."

"Actually, it's not easy to say anything." Cas corrected feebly. Dean looked round at the girl, seeing her pale and forlorn. Something twinged inside of him, and he reached down on the floor for a water bottle that he knew was there.

"Drink." He told his passenger. She took it weakly, but eagerly, and downed the bottle swiftly, wiping her mouth afterwards.

"Thank you." She said gruffly, a mannerism suddenly reminiscent of the Cas he knew... he opened his door and jumped out without warning, stepping out into the empty road, inhaling deeply. He took a few steps away from the car, not looking back.

"Dean?" Sam called. Dean didn't turn.

"Give me a minute." He called back. He expected Sam to go back into the car, but he didn't. Instead he approached him, standing at his side. Dean looked at him. "Why aren't you mad?"

"At Cas?" Sam asked. Dean nodded slightly. "Because... look at him, man; don't you think he's been punished enough?"

"But everything he's done! To you!"

"He brought me back from hell."

"Yeah, without a soul."

"Not on purpose!" Sam reminded him. "Sure, at the end he went-"

"He went insane, and broke the planet. Just after we worked our asses off trying to save it."

"He did what he had to. What else could he have done?"

"Not that. He should've come to us." Dean said stubbornly. "It's too late."

From inside the car they heard the distinct sound of vomiting.

"We should get back on the road." Sam said quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

After another while of driving, the boys began to notice strange noises coming from the backseat. Dean stubbornly focused on driving, but Sam turned round.

"Cas, you alright back there?"

"I'm not sure." She placed a hand on her stomach, wincing as another growl came from within. "This is not a familiar feeling."

"Empty?" Sam suggested, and Cas weakly nodded. "Dean, I think it's time to stop for lunch."

Dean didn't say anything, and Sam didn't push it. However, just a few minutes down the road, Dean conceded to stop at a diner that was helpfully placed for drivers such as themselves. Well, perhaps not exactly like them.

Sam supported the angel, a hand around her waist as they walked into the diner, following Dean, who had walked in first. They sat at a table by the window, in clear view of their car, and a waitress quickly gave them menus. Sam noticed her trying to flirt with Dean, but he also noticed Dean completely ignoring her. He sighed, but opened the menu.

"What do you want, Cas?" Sam asked. "Since when do you get hungry, anyway?"

"It's this body. It's fighting against me."

"What's wrong with it?" Sam questioned.

"She's not completely human, therefore I could enter it uninvited." Cas told him while he perused the menu, looking confused at the array of choice.

"What is she?" Sam asked.

"It is not of import." Cas said resolutely. "I simply need to vacate as soon as possible."

"Floating on up back to heaven not an option, then?" Dean muttered. Sam and Castiel both looked up, surprised by his choice to finally speak.

"It would not be wise." Cas concluded. "I doubt I would be welcomed with anything other than violence."

"Not a bad idea." Dean announced. He abruptly waved the waitress over, and she came swiftly, with a smile aimed purely for the elder Winchester brother.

"Can I help you?" She asked sweetly.

"A bacon burger." He told her. "And a beer."

Sam raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. The woman noted it down, taking the menu from him, before turning to Cas and Sam.

"Ceaser salad, thanks." Sam said. Cas still looked confused.

"Anything for you, miss?"

Cas blinked, still clearly unused to this gender change.

"I, uh..."

"The cheeseburger's a house favourite." The girl smiled.

"You used to like those." Sam pointed out.

"Very well." Cas said, handing over the menu as Sam and Dean had done.

The girl left, and the silence at the table resumed. After a few seconds, Dean huffed and stood up without a word, heading towards the bathroom. Sam and Cas sat awkwardly.

"Dean is angry with me." Cas quietly said.

"Well." Sam agreed, unsure what to say. "He's hurt."

"I hurt him."

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "You gotta admit, everything you did, everything... it was bad."

"I see that now." Cas agreed. "But I do not see what I could do to..."

"You just gotta let him get through it." Sam told him. "You broke his trust."

"And how do I fix it?"

"Earn it, I guess."

Silence for a few more seconds as Sam placed a napkin on his lap, and Cas stared out of the window.

"Why are you not also angry at me?" Castiel asked. "You suffered just as much as Dean has, because of me."

"Because we've all screwed up, big time, at one point or another." Sam reminded. "He kick started the apocalypse, I jumped it into overdrive. You became God to stop a worse one." Sam sighed. "We all had the best of intentions."

Cas just blinked, unsure of what to say.

"But I do know something." Sam continued.

"What do you know?"

"I missed you. And so did Dean, even if he won't admit it."

Dean had been in the bathroom for a while, longer than he needed to be, certainly. He just wanted to be away from her.

Sam was wrong, obviously. It wasn't that he was hurt by Cas, from everything he did. He was just angry. He was angry up top, you go down some more, still angry, and then you get deeper still, and guess what? More anger.

After everything he had done, he came back to them asking for their help? They stopped being friends the minute Cas went behind their backs to Crowley. Dean wanted nothing more than to punch the asshole in the face, but he recognised that with the angel in his current state, it probably wasn't the best idea.

He splashed cold water on his face, looking at his reflection in the mirror. A tiny part of him wondered if it had changed at all since Cas had last seen it, if the brow was more furrowed, if the lips tilted down at the edges, if his eyes had lost some of the shine.

He would never admit it to Sam, but he knew he had changed. He'd toughened up, more so than before – he was almost unrecognisable from how he'd been all those years ago. Like Cas.

He winced, thinking about how Cas had been when he'd first met him, how loyal he'd been to heaven, how certain of his cause. What had happened?

You happened. A voice in his head told him. That was the angel he'd been before Dean made him question his orders, before Dean made him fall. Didn't he say as much? Didn't Cas say that everything he'd done had been for Dean?

Dean frowned. Cas had pushed it too far. What he'd done was too bad to come back from.

He kicked open the bathroom door and went back into the restaurant, resolve sealed. They would get the damned angel his vessel back, they would put him in their rear-view mirror, and get back to cleaning up his mess.

He got back to the table as the waitress came back with their meal. He smiled at her briefly before tucking in, ignoring the fact that the others had clearly been talking. The burger was delicious, of course, and though Castiel wolfed into his, he clearly wasn't enjoying it as much as Dean was. Sam merely picked at his salad.

Dean eyes moved a lot during the meal. He looked at his food, at his plate, out the window, at a menu. Not once did he look at the faces of his company. He knew what he would find there; Sam, eyes pleading with Dean to make some sort of move, something forgiving, something to show Cas he still cared, and in Cas's eyes he would see, beneath the heavy layers of cold, angelic indifference, reproach and sorrow. He didn't want to see either of them.

He pondered briefly on Castiel's current situation; gender-wise, anyway. Sam kept switching between She and He; obviously, despite his calm take on the situation, somewhat confused. Of course it was still the angel in there, and, inherently, angels didn't have a gender, only their vessels did. It was still weird to think of Cas, his Cas, in a woman's body, though. He was used to him being all... manly. Kind of.

Not that he was his Cas.

Dean suddenly realised where his eyes had wandered, and abruptly moved them back to his burger, taking a too large bite. Angel or not, it generally wasn't considered polite to stare at a woman's breasts.

"How much longer have we got?" Sam asked.

"Till we get to the lake?" Dean asked. "Two hours, maybe less."

Sam looked at the shaking, weak girl that was the former mighty angel. The sooner they got there, the better.


	5. Chapter 5

They got back into the car, leaving the diner quickly after Castiel had a vicious coughing attack, spitting blood into the food. They all seemed to lose their appetite after that, but at least they managed to get a free meal.

Dean drove as fast as he could manage in the rusted old car; he barely hit 70. He wanted to ditch the angel on his shoulder as soon as possible, and he tried everything he could to distract him on the way. He counted red cars. He made names out of license plates. He sung Metallica in his head as loudly as possible. He tried to drag race with another car, but at the protestation of Sam, he stopped.

All of this would work, for a while, until Cas started coughing again, or whimpering in pain, or Dean caught a glimpse of her in the mirror. Then he would remember all over again, everything. His anger would resurface, he'd grip the steering wheel tightly, literally white knuckling it, and blink back the red hot dampness that annoyingly appeared in his eyes. And each time this happened, he'd push down harder on the accelerator, to get there faster. To get that angel out of that body.

They finally arrived at the lake, an hour and a half after Sam had asked how long it would take. Sam helped Cas out of the car, now requiring to put an arm around the angels back to prop her up as they all walked to the edge of the lake, kicking open the metal gate that discouraged intruders. Dean grimly looked at the sign that warned 'No swimming', the irony not lost on him.

It all looked so... normal. There was no sign that anything bad had happened here, no blackened entrails in the water, no blood, no body parts. Nothing. Except Dean could still see it. Dean could still see the possessed form of his friend far out in the water, ready to dive. Dean could even see the sodden trench coat at the shore line, could still feel it damp in his grip.

He sat on one of the rocks at the water line, looking out at the water so the others couldn't see his face. He didn't want them to see him like this.

"So, what now?" He asked gruffly. "Are you going for a swim?"

"That would be unnecessary." Cas told him. "I just need to find the vessel..." The angel stumbled, despite Sam's strong hold, as her knees gave way. Dean got up, and, putting his personal feelings aside for a second, gave up his spot on the rock. Cas gratefully sat down, and looked out to the lake. There was a few minutes of silence, before Sam awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam asked. "Do you need any help."

"No," Cas replied. "Thank you."

Sam then turned to Dean.

"What do we do, after this?"

"Carry on?" Dean suggested. "Put Cas on the next flight upstairs and forget all about it."

"I don't think that's an option." Sam sighed. "You heard him earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"Heaven's not exactly safe for him right now. They'd kill him the instant he got back up there."

"And that's our problem because...?" Dean shrugged.

"Because he's our friend?"

"No. No, he's not our friend, Sammie, not anymore." Dean gestured at the girl sitting calmly on the rock. "I don't know if you remember the past few months, but that guy has put us through hell."

Sam huffed. "Well. Then, think of it this way; he's probably going to be pretty damn useful."

"To help us get all those knives into our backs? Yeah, it's been on our to-do list."

"Because he's probably got all sorts of inside info on the Leviathan's." Sam pointed out. "From heaven, and from being possessed by them."

Dean thought about it, and as much as it pained him, he couldn't really dispute it.

"Whatever." He angrily conceded. "He's your responsibility. Don't come crying to me when he lets you down."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Do you honestly believe everything you're saying? Do you even hear yourself? This is Cas we're talking about."

"Yeah, I'm fully aware of who we're talking ab-"

"I found him." Cas's quiet voice interrupted them both, and they turned to look at the hunched figure of the girl.

"So what now?" Sam asked. He didn't get an answer, though; at least, not in verbal form. Instead the girl started glowing, glowing brightly, and Sam and Dean, painfully aware of what that light could do, shielded their eyes. Even through their hands, the light still shone through, their vision turning white for a few seconds, but their eyes, thankfully, remained intact in their sockets. As soon as they felt safe they peeked, seeing that the girl's glow was fading, and the lake, in turn, was glowing also. Dead in the centre in was brightest, though that faded too.

"Did it work?" Dean asked, curiosity creeping through.

"I don't know." Sam breathed.

Both were standing at the very edge of the water, craning their necks to see if they could spot anything, anything at all, some form of disturbance in the water. Both were so engrossed that when the girl next to them started yelling, they were, needless to say, very startled.

"CASTIEL, YOU BASTARD!"


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel's appearance from the lake should have been special, it should have been something that was watched with marvel, and preferably with a touching soundtrack to tug at the heartstrings. It should have been graceful, like in the movies, and Dean and Sam should've been watching.

But life for the boys wasn't like a movie. Most of the time.

"CASTIEL, YOU BASTARD!" The girl yelled, and both Dean and Sam turned to look at her. She had risen off the rock, and, panting heavily, was screeching angrily at the water. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"Woah, lady." Dean gingerly put himself in her line of vision. "It's okay, everything's fine."

"Everything is not fine, you IDIOT!" She yelled. "CASTIEL!" She moved to walk into the lake, but stopped abruptly, looking just past the boys, behind them; her face contorted in rage. The boys looked behind them, and saw the familiar form of Castiel, standing sodden behind them. Wet all over from the lake, his hair was dripping water onto his face, his suit hung heavy, and his tie was extremely discoloured. But his body, his flesh... it was like nothing had happened, like he hadn't exploded.

"Cas..." Dean said, amazed, forgetting himself for a minute, so amazed to see him again.

"Oh, bully for you, Castiel is back." The girl sarcastically proclaimed. "Hugs all round?" She raised her arms furiously. Dean noticed with a wry smile that she had an English accent, something that hadn't been noticeable whilst Castiel had been inside her.

"My apologies, Olivia-" The angel begun, but she interrupted him, taking a step forward.

"I don't care about your apologies, Cas," She fumed, carding her fingers through her hair in frustration, but stopping when she got tangled. "You couldn't have brushed? Seriously?"

"Aesthetics were not my priority." He defended himself, and she scoffed.

"And you left my conditioner in the motel! That stuff is really expensive! You made a huge mistake jumping into me."

"I had no-"

"Don't you get it?" She yelled. "Sure, body hopping and bad hair is annoying enough, but you know what really pisses me off?" She took another step forward, now nose to nose with Castiel. "When you flick through the memories of the asshole that's taking you for a ride, and you find out a little something."

She waited, and no-one spoke. The silence practically echoed round the lake, and suddenly Cas looked very uncomfortable. Shifty, even.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He mumbled.

She scoffed. "Funny, that."

"What is it?" Sam asked, and she looked at him briefly.

"I found out that your little Christmas tree topper is the guy that killed my dad." She whispered, looking back at Cas.

He said nothing.

"And that's why I'm gonna kill you." She said grimly.

"You have no power." He told her firmly. "It has been removed."

"Yeah, Daddy didn't trust me with it." She smiled without humour. "He was planning on giving it back, but I guess other things got in the way..." She took a step back

Sam and Dean had been watching this from the sidelines. Dean, torn between his anger at Cas, and that annoying, gnawing sense of... joy, whilst Sam was simply unsure what to do. Finally, he spoke up.

"What are you?" He asked, fingering the gun that he strategically kept in the waistband of his jeans.

"Oh, of course." She cried, moving away from Cas and turning back to the boys. She took a step back, reaching the metal gate, stroking it with her fingertips. "I'm just an abomination, aren't I?"

"Plenty of those around." Sam told her, casting a sideways glance at Cas, who shifted slightly, both of them remembering Castiel's drunken comments. "So, what are you?"

She laughed, looking up at the grey sky. Regaling in her physical freedom, and the sadistic pleasure of coming face to face with her Fathers killer, she seemed elated.

"I'm a Nephilim." She told them. She pointed at Castiel, and winked as she walked away, calling back "Have fun explaining that one."


	7. Chapter 7

Olivia had now walked away, out of their sightline. Sam looked back at Cas, unsure.

"Should we just let her go?"

"She is harmless without her powers." Castiel told him.

"I dunno," Sam said. "She was pretty pissed."

"It is only anger." Cas said gruffly. "She can do little."

Sam didn't look happy, but left it. It was Cas's neck on the line, but if he was so certain...

"So. You're back." Dean spoke, and the angel turned to look at him.

"I am."

"Goody." Dean huffed, sitting back down on the rock, back to the lake. "So, you gonna explain?"

"Explain?"

"What a Nifilim, is. Neflen." He shrugged. "Nympho?"

"Nephilim." Castiel corrected. "She is... rare."

"Oh, how specific." Dean sarcastically commented.

"I think I remember from Bobby's books, maybe." Sam interjected. "She's a type of angel, right?"

"Partially." Castiel's face contorted in, what Dean recognised as, embarrassment. "She is the child of an Angel and a human."

"Thought angels didn't have a sex drive." Dean commented. "Aren't you lot all smooth down there, like ken dolls."

"We do not biologically alter the bodies we inhabit." Castiel attempted to explain.

"So you do..."

Castiel looked uncomfortable again, and the brothers simultaneously raised their eyebrows. He had always come across as completely indifferent to sex.

"Some angels, occasionally, fall into temptation." He told them. "And that can result in... unsavoury consequences."

"The Nephilim?" Sam clarified, and Cas nodded.

"I bet the child support on that is a bitch." Dean joked, and Castiel frowned.

"What's so bad about them?" Sam asked.

"They are hugely powerful. Consider the Cambion that we encountered, the child of a demon."

"He was strong." Sam nodded, remembering Jesse, the eleven year old boy from two years before.

"Well, Nephilim's are stronger. But, they can be controlled by their conceiver, or by God." Castiel explained. "Thankfully, she has already been stripped of her powers."

"Well, peachy." Dean stood up. "Glad to see she's nice and controlled. But, by who, again?"

Castiel blinked. "Her Father."

"Yeah, who's that then?" Dean stared at him, waiting for an answer. "One of Raphiel's followers? One of the angel's who were gung-ho on the apocalypse idea?" He shrugged. "Or was it one of the hundreds that you smited when you were playing your hand at being God?" He took a step forward. "Who did you kill?"

Cas considered his options. He considered lying again, claiming ignorance, claiming that he did not know the girl's father. Or he could say it was indeed one of the angels fighting him in the civil war.

But he knew more lies were not the answer. He couldn't earn back Dean's trust with a lie.

"Balthazar."

"What?" Sam cried, but Dean merely shook his head, resigned.

"Balthazar." He repeated. "You killed Balthazar."

"Yes."

"He was your friend."

"I know."

"Why?" Dean asked, shrugging. "Why'd you do it?"

"You know the answer."

"I want to hear you say it!" Dean told him loudly, almost shouting.

"Why, Dean?" Castiel almost shrugged, his shoulders twitching pathetically under Dean's ferocity. "Will you hate me any less?"

A few seconds of silence passed, and Dean shook his head, the ghost of a cynical smile passing over his lips. Without another word he walked off, brushing past the angel, back in the direction of the car.

Cas looked sadly to Sam who was still standing there, but as they made eye contact Sam's eyes dropped to his feet, and he followed Dean, leaving the angel, alone and unloved, at the edge of his watery grave.


	8. Chapter 8

"Where's the car?"

Dean finally spoke, and it was about the car. But he had a good point. It wasn't where he had left it, in the car park of the reservoir. The lot was empty, of cars and of humans.

"Where's the girl?" Sam contributed.

Dean just sighed, defeated. It's not like he liked the car, anyway. It wasn't his beautiful baby that was tucked away in a far corner of Bobby's scrap yard, far enough away from the house to have not been touched in the fire that destroyed the house. But it still sucked.

"Looks like she's got herself some weapons." Dean pointed out. "Everything that's not on us right now was in the trunk."

"Including..." Sam sighed. "Cas's sword."

"So now she can do some damage, if she gets close enough."

"Exactly."

"And we have next to nothing to protect ourselves with." Dean pointed out. "Great. Just, great."

Dean kicked at the gravel on the floor, scattering tiny pebbles everywhere. It just wasn't his day.

"What do we do now?" Sam asked. "Walk?"

"I..." They heard Castiel behind them, and turned round. "I could take you where you need to go."

"I'd rather walk." Dean huffed.

"Dean..." Sam said quietly.

Dean recognised that Dean. It was Sam's stop being stroppy and start being reasonable voice. For a few seconds they caught each other's glare, battling to win with facial expression alone, but Dean conceded.

"Fine. We'll take the angel-mobile."

Castiel carefully approached them both and, after a brief hesitation, placed a fingertip on each of the brothers' foreheads. With no more warning than that they found themselves back in civilisation on a main road, on the edge of a driveway of another motel.

"Thanks." Sam said graciously, not quite meeting Cas's eyes.

Dean didn't say anything, instead choosing to walk towards the motel, ready to book a room. Sam looked at the forlorn angel, and Sam, despite everything, despite what Castiel had told him, still felt a wave of pity for the man who was standing there looking hopelessly lost.

"Cas?" Sam called, and the angel looked up at him. "You coming?"

The angel looked bewildered, and Sam clarified. "You can stay with us."

"You would let me?" Cas seemed disbelieving. "Dean would?"

"He's not happy about it, but he agreed." Sam shrugged. "We need your help."

"With?"

"The Leviathans." Sam told him. "You probably picked up some info, right?"

"Yes, some." Castiel agreed. He began to walk towards the motel with Sam.

"Not to mention," Sam continued. "It looks like you might be needing a couple of bodyguards."

"I am not concerned about Olivia." Castiel stated.

"She's got the angel blade." Sam reminded him. "Still so sure?"

Cas said nothing, just tightened his jaw. That was enough for Sam.

"That's what I thought." Sam sighed. "You're staying with us."

Reaching the motel they found that Dean had already sorted the room. He certainly hadn't gone out of his way to accommodate Cas in this, had instead chosen the usual two-bed rooms, though, Sam noticed, it did have a semi-comfortable looking recliner in the room, if Cas didn't mind staying on something that probably had never been washed.

They took a step into the room, and Sam sat down on a bed. Castiel stood awkwardly near the doorway. Dean took two steps in, saw how the evening was going to be, and stepped back out.

"I'm going out."

"Going where, Dean?" Sam sighed.

"To Wonderland." He replied sarcastically.

"It's barely five, you really going to go to a pub now?" Sam sighed.

"I'm a maverick." Without another word he left, leaving the angel and Sam alone.

"Guess it's just you and me, then." Sam huffed.

"So it would appear." Cas didn't let any physical reaction through to the situation. He stood straight, his posture as it ever was, as if he had never left the body, looking as uncomfortable in this skin as the moment he had first stepped into it. But on the inside... angels feel pain, have very real emotions, and seeing Dean clearly so negatively affected by his very presence... hurt.

"What I wouldn't give for my laptop, now." He pinched the bridge of his nose, before starting to root around the room.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find..." Sam pulled out some cheap motel stationary from one of the draws of a nightstand, and a pen to match. "Ahah!"

"Writing implements?"

"You're going to tell me what you know about the Leviathan's." Sam said. "Then you're going to tell me what you know about Olivia."

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, in what was recognised as a confused, but curious, expression. "You find writing this down helps?"

"It's like taking notes in class." Sam explained. "If you just sit there and listen to the teacher, stuff isn't going to stick."

"You consider this a 'class'?"

"I-" Sam hung his head. "Just sit down and tell me what you know."

Castiel looked awkwardly around, looking down at the other bed. He had no need to sit, he could go for very, very long periods of time with no movement whatsoever. Not that he liked to; it was rather dull. But that was beside the point. Cas sat down awkwardly, perching on the edge of the second bed, opposite from Sam.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean walked down the road, his sixth sense leading him in the vague direction of alcohol. He didn't know the town, and he didn't want to stop and ask for directions, so he figured he'd just follow his feet until he stumbled across a pub or a bar.

So he walked, hands shoved deep in his pockets, curled into fists in the tight fabric. Occasionally kicking litter that got in his way, he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, instead choosing to keep his eyes on the floor, his chin pretty much on his chest. Anyone that saw him knew that he was not in the mood to be messed with.

He spent much of the journey in thought, though tried not to; he tried to merely think about the first sip of a cold beer that night, but his mind couldn't stay in one place. It kept moving to areas he really didn't want to go to. After all, the point of him being out, not back in the motel, was to get away from those thoughts pressing into his mind.

Earlier it had been easier, somewhat. When it was an unfamiliar face looking at them, talking to them, it was easier. She may have spoken like Cas and been Cas inside, but she hadn't been the stark reality that he now was. Now, he was as he had ever been. He was once again the angel he had always known, the angel that had been Dean's friend. Except he wasn't.

It wasn't how it used to be. They couldn't just slot him back in as if nothing had happened, as if Cas hadn't put the entire world in danger, as if he hadn't deceived them. Dean couldn't do that. It hurt way too much to see him, to see his bright blue eyes flashing, to see that puppy-dog demeanour of his begging for forgiveness. It hurt red-hot in anger, deep in the pit of his stomach, making him want to punch the angel, to keep hitting him until he went away again. Then Dean could go back to his routine. Dean could go back to pretending nothing had happened, and drinking himself into an even earlier grave.

He kicked an empty coke can particularly viciously, and it went flying.

He now turned a corner in the road and, almost blissfully, Dean finally saw more signs of life than houses and a post office. He was being led onto a high street with shops, and, of course, a pub. He almost smiled, but hit a moment of hesitation when he saw the highly inconvenient name of the pub on the sign: The Angel.

For a few seconds he grappled with his priorities, before deciding that despite the annoying name, he really did need that drink.

The car park was placed at the front of the pub, and as he walked through he melancholically thought of his baby, the beautiful Impala. It had been a while since he had last seen her, and these garish, boring, ill-conceived vehicles they drove now were nothing in comparison, the same as the cars parked here. That blue car in the corner was too boxy, that red car to the left was too flashy, and way too small, and that rusty car right next to the entrance clearly wouldn't have room in the trunk to hide a body.

Dean stopped and backtracked, looking back around the car. It was rusty, and it was ugly. It was the type of car he would hate to be seen driving in.

He peered in through the windows and could just about see a black bag shoved under the driver's seat. Going back to the trunk he checked it out, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, finding the car key still in there. He pushed it into the lock on the lid, and it opened easily, revealing an impressive stash of weaponry, guns, salt, bottles of water, and cleaning solution. It was their car.

He grinned, the first thing to have gone right that day. His car conveniently parked in front of a pub.

His brain then clicked together, and, after grabbing some supplies and locking the boot, he walked into the pub and straight up to the bar. A dark haired woman was tending, looking disinterested, though visibly perked up when she saw Dean.

"Can I get you anything?" She said happily, leaning over slightly, her top gaping somewhat at the neckline. Dean smiled, happy with female attention even in the darkest of moods. Especially in dark moods; he could use a pick me up.

"I'm sure you can," Dean winked. "But first, I just need to ask you a question."

She leaned forward some more, resting on the bar. "Shoot." She smiled.

"I need you to tell me if someone's been here. She's about twenty, light brown hair... probably wearing a black jacket. Goes by Olivia."

The bartender visibly drooped. "Girlfriend?"

Dean chuckled. "No, not a girlfriend." She smiled again. "Just someone who I think was here."

"Well, I saw her in earlier, she was talking to Tommy for a while..." The woman leant back and yelled. "Tommy!" There was no response, and she yelled again. "Tommy!" She frowned. "He's just in the back room." She went to go to the door, but it was suddenly opened, and a guy stuck his head out, face slightly flushed.

"What?"

"That girl you were talking to earlier. She still here?"

Tommy looked at Dean and frowned. "Nah, she left."

"Did she say where she was going?" Dean asked.

"Not to me, sorry." Tommy looked back at the girl. "That it?"

"Did she say anything... I dunno, weird? Out of the ordinary?" Dean shrugged.

"Nothing, really." He said. "She just said she really needed a drink."

"You're lovely colleague here-"

"Mandy." She interrupted.

"-Mandy," Dean corrected himself. "Says you were chatting for a while."

"About types of drink. Nothing much to it."

"Right." Dean sighed. "Thanks anyway."

Tommy nodded and vanished back into the storeroom. Dean then turned his attention back to the bartender.

"So, Mandy." He said. "I'm Dean."

"Nice to meet you Dean." She said. "Now, can I get you anything?"

Her smile suggested something a bit more than a drink, and he smiled. "I think I'll start with a beer." He said happily.

"Of course." She smiled, grabbing a bottle from a fridge and removed the cap before handing it to him.

He brought the long sought after bottle to his lips, relishing the first sip of that delicious brew. That first sip that was supposed to make the days troubles seem a little easier, to remove the tight, uncomfortable feeling sitting in his abdomen.

It didn't have the required effect.

He'd better drink more.


	10. Chapter 10

"Okay." Sam said, flipping the page over so he had a fresh sheet. "Now tell me about Nephilim."

"They are children of angels." Castiel stated.

"Yeah, I got that."

"They are very powerful, more powerful than Cambion."

"Because an angel is more powerful than a demon?"

"Precisely." Castiel agreed. "But they are exaggerated."

"What do you mean?" Sam queried.

"In the bible they are described as giants: 'We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them'."

"She looked... human."

"Yes. They are trapped in humanoid form; it is spiritual greatness that the book speaks of. And power."

"But you said she'd had her power stripped?"

"From what I could see." Cas attempted to explain. "It seems that Balthazar removed her powers."

"He could do that? The kid's parent couldn't control him."

"If it is God's will it shall be done." Castiel replied, but his voice sounded sour. "It was often done with Nephilim's – their human lineage would often lack the restraint needed for angelic powers. They could cause worldwide damage; the ice age, for example."

"Wow." Sam whistled. "But they're not... evil, right?"

Castiel blinked, almost as if he found Sam's words puzzling. "They are borne of heaven, Sam; they have great capacity for good."

"Sorry." Sam sheepishly apologised.

"Jesus himself was one, and he was a great power for good."

"Wait, Jesus?" Sam backtracked. "Jesus was a Nephilim?"

"Indeed."

"I thought God was his Father?"

"Propaganda." Castiel informed him. "Heaven does not like to advertise the angels' mistakes."

"So whose was he?"

"Gabriel's." Castiel told him simply, and Sam raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "It was shortly after this that Gabriel went into hiding."

"Wow..." Sam thought about this for a moment, suddenly seeing Heaven as a soap opera. "Wish Bobby was around to hear about this."

"You could call him?" Cas suggested, and was confused when Sam looked up at him, sadness in his eyes.

"No, we can't." Sam sighed. He put down the pen for a second, readying himself for what he had to say. "Bobby died, Cas; a Leviathan shot him."

The angel did not reply immediately. Is Sam did not know him, he wouldn't have thought he reacted, but he knew better: he noticed the slight furrow of the brow, he saw the pursing of the lips and the eyes flicking down. He didn't know how to convey emotion, but he certainly felt it.

"I'm sorry." Cas said quietly. "He was a good man."

"Wasn't your fault." Sam muttered, but Cas knew that wasn't quite the truth.

"Anyway." Sam coughed, changing the subject. "Olivia. Can she get her powers back?"

"In theory, yes; there is a spell."

"And we need to stop her from doing that?"

"Naturally." Castiel agreed.

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anything else you can tell me?"

Castiel tilted his head in thought. "There is one thing. Did you not wonder how I found you with such ease?"

"I didn't really think about it, but yeah, that is weird... what happened to our ribs?"

"I found you because she did." Castiel explained. "She was in the room next to you. She appeared to have been tracking you, following you."

"Why would she do that?"

"Perhaps to get to me, I do not know."

A thought struck Sam, and he chewed his pen in thought. "Who would win in a fight: A Nephilim or a Leviathan?"

Cas merely shot a confused look and told him that he didn't know the answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean finally returned to the motel much, much later. And, much like the rest of the day, the night at the bar hadn't gone as expected.

He had gone there to get drunk and drown his sorrows. He had also planned on getting lucky with the lovely Mandy, as that would definitely provide a little happiness. Instead the alcohol seemed to amplify his woes, if that's possible, and he ended up spilling them out to the poor bartender, who was looking more and more exasperated as the night went on.

"So the guy, after everything, after being a backstabbing son of a bitch, opens this big door and lets out these huge, flesh eating monsters!"

"Uhuh..."

"And then he... he vanished! He just ran away and left us cleaning up after that stupid angels mess! Which, for the record, we're still doing."

"Yeah..."

"And then today he shows up and asks for our help! And we had to help him."

"You did?"

"Yeah, we did! It's what we do. We help." Dean downed his beer, and Mandy reluctantly handed him another. "We've helped him tons of times. And he still keeps coming."

"Sounds to me he helped you a lot too." She sighed, and looked alarmed when Dean shot her a glare.

"Whaddyu mean?"

"You said he turned his back on his family and all their 'plans'? Sounds like a big deal."

"It was. But he needed to. His family were dicks."

"Still had to have been hard."

"Doesn't make up for what he did." Dean said stubbornly, taking a big sip. "That was, like, a year and a half ago."

"Maybe you should talk to him? You might still find he's your friend, deep down."

Dean looked at her like she was crazy. "No!" He yelled. "What sort of an idea is that?"

After that he smashed a bottle against a wall. He was politely asked to leave.

It was only half 9 at that point, and Dean, feigning soberness, managed to buy two six packs of beer from an off-license down the street. He drove to a nearby park (he had gained a lot of experience over the years of driving drunk, and, even completely out of it, managed to be careful – he never wanted to harm his baby) and spent the remainder of the night there, drinking and being a general public nuisance.

At half 4 he decided he'd had enough and made his way home, carefully driving back, going at about five miles an hour. Being careful, and procrastinating. But soon enough he found himself back at the motel, and taking a steeling breath, entered.

Sam had fallen asleep on his bed, a foot hanging off the end of the bed. Cas was sitting on the recliner reading what appeared to be a magazine on arts and crafts, but stood when Dean entered.

"Dean." Castiel greeted, happy to see him despite not knowing the feeling was less than reciprocated. "You're back."

"Yeah, I am." Dean replied, words slurring but anger still there. He took off his shoes and went to the sink, slurping some water.

"I was concerned." Cas admitted hesitantly.

"Well, you see, Cas?" Dean turned round. "Out of the two of us, I'm the one who's reliable. I'm the one who came back!"

Castiel tilted his head slightly, confused at his words. "I have come back."

"I came back, on time." Dean pointed out. "I was reliable, and I came back on time!"

"You are drunk." Cas sighed.

"So?" Dean asked loudly. "You've seen me drunk before! I get drunk, a lot."

"It is difficult to converse with you whilst you are like this."

"You want to converse?" Dean repeated. "You've been gone for months and now you want to chat? Well, it's too late."

"I did not want to go, Dean; you must know that."

"I must know nothing!" Dean stubbornly contradicted. "You didn't just leave when you left! You left way before that; you left when you went to Crowley. You left when you lied to us and when you spied on us! Elvis has left the building!"

"I'm sorry, Dean." The angel told him sadly. "I..." The words weren't coming easily. "I wish I hadn't done what I did."

"Then why the hell did you leave?" Dean yelled, his hands gripping hard onto the surface. "Why did you leave me?" Hot tears entered Dean's eyes, and he brushed them away angrily.

If ever there had been a time for Castiel to hug Dean, it would've been then. He might've broken through to the things buried beneath the anger, he might have managed to reach across the big, gaping hole in their friendship and put a tightrope where there once had been a bridge. But he didn't. Instead, they both got distracted by Sam, who had sat up, awakened by Dean's yell.

"Dean..." Cas said, but the hunter shook his head.

"I'm going to bed." He stated, and pushed past the angel, ignoring his brother and climbing into his bed, pulling the duvet up to hide his face. He didn't sleep for a while, even after the angel left the room and sat outside for the rest of the night, or after Sam had gone to sleep. It was light before Dean managed to drift off, and the dreams that he had didn't soothe him at all.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean eventually woke up, the dim light from the window hurting his eyes even when they were closed. He complained incoherently, but no-one replied.

He squinted, seeing a glass of water placed on the nightstand in easy reaching distance. He knew he probably hadn't had nearly enough forethought to put it there himself, so he guessed it must have been Sam, taking pity on him. He can't have behaved too badly last night, then, despite the monster of all hangovers. If this hangover had a name it would be called Zachariah.

He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to assess the situation. General mood-wise, he was a cocktail of emotion. A shot of anger, a splash of hurt, a dash of weird happiness, and a quart of son of a BITCH, that really hurts!

Helpfully placed beside the water were some painkillers. He consumed.

He tried to remember what happened last night. He remembered a park, dimly; he remembered a car... he remembered a pretty barmaid in a bar called...

"Oh, God..." Dean moaned, the events of the previous day coming back to him, having been lost momentarily in the hangover. His head hurt even worse as he remembered what happened, remembered Cas turning up...

He dashed to the toilet and heaved up the copious amounts of alcohol that was still in his stomach. Usually a sign of a good night, but it didn't feel like it.

Eventually he got out of the room, dressed, preened, and a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Directly outside he saw Sam looking in the boot of the rusty car, which was somehow parked across three parking spaces. He felt a sense of pride that he, at least, had managed to get it home okay.

"Thanks for the water." Dean croaked, and Sam looked up at him.

"Wasn't me." Sam shrugged. "How's the head?"

"Oh, it's a party and the whole world's invited to tap dance in it." He rambled.

"You ever think of not starting the day with a hangover?"

"Sounds stupid."

"Of course it does." Sam coddled. He looked at the contents of the open boot again. "You found the car?"

"She handily left it for us outside a bar." Dean smiled.

"Just left it?"

"She was gone by the time I got there; she left the car behind."

"You ask about her inside?"

"Yeah." Dean told him. "Didn't get anything useful."

"I'll go there later." Sam decided. "They might be more forthcoming to the FBI."

"You can try, but they don't know anything." Sam said. "Ask for... what's his name... Timmy? Tommy?"

"Thanks." Sam looked back down in the boot.

"She left everything." Dean stated, remembering his brief perusal the night before.

"No, she didn't." Sam corrected. "She took what she needed."

"What's that?"

"Holy oil and the angel blade." Sam told him. "Everything she needs."

"No guns?"

"I don't think so." Sam said. "She doesn't seem to want to fight us."

"Maybe she's counting on us not caring one way or another if she kills the son of a bitch."

"Then she's wrong." Sam said firmly.

"Speak for yourself."

"Can you drop the attitude, Dean?" Sam sighed.

"What attitude?"

"Your whole I couldn't give a damn thing you've got going on. The attitude that's making you drink every night and treat Cas like he means nothing to you!"

"Because that is what he means to me!"

"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be!" Sam yelled. "But you need to deal with it, and you need to stop acting like you don't care! You're not just angry, Dean; you're really, really hurt!"

"Oh, you think so?" Dean scoffed.

"I know so. And if you heard yourself last night, you'd know too." Sam told him. "You're so cut up about Cas leaving that you're not letting yourself be happy that he's back!"

Dean shook his head, his face turning sour. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna hit you."

"Funny. Every time you say that to me, I'm always right."

"No, every time I say it you're being a pain in the ass." Dean yelled. "Don't think you can see inside my head, Sam. You stay out of it."

Sam sighed. "Fine, Dean; whatever gets you through the day." He reached into the boot and fished out some clothes before he shut it, and walked past Dean to get back into the motel. "What's the bar called?"

"Why?"

"I need to ask them about Olivia." Sam reminded him. "What's it called?"

"If you just follow the road up, you'll get to it. It's on the high street." Dean evaded.

Sam shot him a look. "Fine." He walked into the motel.

"Am I on research duty?" Dean sighed.

"That... and you're babysitting." Dean could hear the smile in his voice through the open door.

"I'm not going to spend the afternoon with him!"

"You're going to have to. You can't go to the bar, they've already seen you, and someone needs to keep him alive while I'm out."

"Can't you take him with you?"

"You remember how he is." Sam reminded him, standing in the door way, having changed his top. "He can barely work out which way up a badge goes."

"God..." Dean groaned, dreading the thought of spending time alone with the angel. "Where even is he?"

"That way." Sam pointed up the road, and they saw the angel sitting alone on a bench backing onto a line of trees, his black suit-jacket contrasting heavily with the white of his skin. "He looks so weird without the trench coat." Sam mused.

"I hadn't noticed." Dean looked away, wondering why Sam hadn't given Cas fresh clothes to change into, then realised it was probably because they hadn't had the car. "Be back soon, okay?"

Sam sighed again, but conceded. "Fine. Just keep him alive."

"Whatever."

"Be nice." Sam chided as he walked past him and into the car.


	13. Chapter 13

Cas sat alone on the bench, deep in thought as he watched time tick slowly by. He had been out there for hours, ever since Dean had returned home, though after the boys had fallen asleep he had returned and placed water and painkillers beside Dean – he remembered when Dean had shown him that kindness, a very long time ago.

Cas had the capacity to stay completely still in the same spot for millennia without the need to move, and indeed had done so, some time ago, but just a few short hours now and Cas was feeling... restless. He felt confined, he felt restrained, but most of all he felt sorrow. His actions had led Dean to hate him, and that hurt.

He briefly wondered if he preferred how it was before, being a devoted angel of the lord, whose only fate in his existence was to follow orders. Nothing was difficult, everything was clear cut and simple; now there was choice and heartache. Now he had free will, and that was difficult.

But would he change it back?

He looked over to the motel, seeing Dean and Sam talking by the car. He smiled briefly, happy, despite everything, that they were alive, that they were relatively safe and healthy. Cas knew that everything he had done had been to ensure that, to keep the world intact for Dean. And for that he didn't regret it; this was better than the alternative.

He would work hard to regain Dean's trust. He knew it would not happen easily, but he had faith that he would once again be part of their family. One day.

The car pulled up in front of him, and Sam wound down the window to speak. "I'm going to go ask about Olivia, Dean said she was at the pub before he got there."

"Alright."

"You might want to go inside soon; Dean's going to need your help with research."

"You mean Dean needs to watch me." Cas corrected. Sam shrugged, and the angel sighed. "Very well."

Sam drove off and left Cas sitting there, alone again. Cas was fully aware that Dean would not be happy with his assigned job, and the afternoon would be very uncomfortable for them both. He wished, not for the first time, that his social skills were better, so that he might know what to do in situations such as these, what would be the correct action to make Dean happy.

Abruptly, Cas was aware of not being alone. He turned his head and saw, sitting next to him, was a little girl, her feet swinging off the floor; she wore a frilled dress with a floral pattern, and her shoes had embroidered flowers on them. Her hair hung in blonde ringlets, and her blue eyes shone bright and gleaming.

"Hello, Castiel." She smiled. "It is good to see you again. I had been worried for you."

"Zadkiel?" He was surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"To see you, silly." She smiled, and threw her arms round his waist, hugging him tight. Castiel was unsure of how to react, and merely moved his arms up and out of her way until she had finished embracing him. "How are you?"

"I am... adequate." He said.

"Oh, that doesn't sound too good." She cooed. "Is it the whole Dean thing? Because I could give your sweetheart a little encouragement if you wanted."

"No." Cas said firmly. "I do not need your expertise."

"Aw, you're going for the old fashioned approach?" Zedkiel smiled. "Probably for the best if you want the forgiveness to be true." She sighed, looking at the motel room in which Dean was sitting. "Human's can be so ungrateful."

"How do you mean?"

"After everything you've done for him, he still treats you like a pet. Doesn't he realise? You were a mighty angel, and you gave up everything for him!" She shook her head, ringlets bouncing. "The other angels don't understand your affection for him. I think I do."

"Do you?"

"Human's are quaint. They can be arrogant, annoying and self righteous, but they are wonderful... it's almost worth giving it all up for..." She gasped, and slapped her forehead. "Silly me! I forgot why I was actually down here!"

"What do you mean?" Cas asked.

"They didn't just send me down to say hello, they wanted me to pass on a message!" She grasped Cas's hands ardently. "Oh, say you forgive me!"

"What is the message?" Cas firmly inquired, and she calmed down, trying to remember, her eyes crossing a little in concentration.

"You are not to return to heaven. You are no longer welcome. You have been cut off."

Cas blinked. "That means..."

She placed a tiny palm on his cheek. "You have played your part, and they are unhappy with the outcome. But they are not so unkind; they have let you keep what you have?"

"What does that mean?"

"You aren't going cold turkey." She smiled. "Your grace will dwindle, you still have a little left to use, but it shall run dry."

"I will be human?" He whispered.

"It is a blessing." She said. "Many envy you."

"They envy a fallen angel?"

"Much has changed since you have left. With no leader left to speak of, it has descended into anarchy." She shrugged. "However, since angels don't have much of a concept of free will, it is hardly a tragic event. Many are happier now."

"No-one is trying to bring about the apocalypse?"

"They have been warned not to."

"Who by?"

"Joshua." She told him happily.

Cas looked at her in surprise. "God is intervening?"

"We are unsure, but... there is speculation." She smiled. "It would be wonderful indeed."

Cas sighed. "After I tried to find him for so long..."

"Don't feel sad, little one." Zedkiel soothed. "God cared for you. He brought you back from the end, more than once. Even now, he still wills you to be here." She stroked his shoulder. "He loves you, brother."

Cas's mouth twitched up at the corners, and his eyes shone. "Thank you."

Zedkiel sighed, feeling her call. "I must leave you." She stroked his cheek again. "Will you be alright?"

"I shall be fine. Thank you for coming."

"It was my pleasure." She smiled and moved so that she was now kneeling on the bench, her head level with the tired angel's. She leant forward and placed a brief kiss on his cheek, warm, forgiving and loving. And with that, she vanished, leaving him alone on the bench.

Cas gritted his teeth, setting his jaw, thinking about the situation, about the conversation. Despite its nature he felt reassured by it; seeing Zedkiel had always comforted him, she had that affect on many. He did not know how he felt about the revelations: he felt saddened, but not surprised, at the fact that he had been officially evicted from heaven, but to turn human? His mind rolled the prospect around: it was terrifying, it was death and short and so much more complicated... but it was life. The angels were brought up with a grudging respect of humanity, and since Castiel's time with the hunters, with Dean, he was far fonder of them than most of the garrison.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice, jolting him back to the situation at hand.

"So, Cassie; you've fallen."

Olivia had stepped from the trees, teasing a long silver blade in her hands.


	14. Chapter 14

"So, Cassie; you've fallen." Olivia smirked, stroking the flat of the angel blade with her fingertips. "Am I the only one getting a sense of déjà vu, here?"

Cas stood tall, raising his chin in a display of dominance. "Are you here to kill me, Olivia?"

"Maybe..." She sighed, cocking her head. "Haven't decided yet."

Cas remained resolute, not letting her words confuse him. "Why don't you just do it now? Get it over with?"

"That scared about being human?" She laughed. "It's not all that bad." She looked down at herself. "Alright, it's a pain in the ass. Walking around everywhere, money, sleeping. It's so tiresome. You have to resort to using charm to win people over, instead of your massive ego." She winked at him. "You'll hate it."

"Will I get the chance to find out?" Castiel asked her passively, glancing at the angel blade.

"That's the question, isn't it?" She smiled. "I was going to kill you right now; none of your little body guards about, but then I heard what she was saying... you're losing your grace. And that's going to hurt like hell."

"You would rather see that than kill me yourself?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong; I will kill you... I think I'm just going to wait."

"For me to become human."

"Yeah." She agreed, laughing. "Should be fun to see; I get to watch the Titanic sink."

"The Titanic was considered a great tragedy – people did not watch in glee." Castiel almost scolded.

"Yet they made a huge film about it!" She shrugged. "Dad always hated that film. Said if he heard that stupid song one more time he'd go back and make sure it'd never get made."

"He tried." Cas reminded her. "He took great pleasure in stopping that event."

Her face turned sour. "Because YOU asked him to." She spat. "He was helping you on your selfish mission. He did everything you asked of him!"

"And I did not appreciate it enough." Castiel conceded. "I betrayed him."

"Remind you of anything?" She scoffed. "You're just as bad as him."

"I would be proud to be half the man that Dean Winchester is." Castiel took a step towards her, his eyes fierce.

"A murderer? A traitor? An irrational, arrogant fool?" She cried. "You're more than half way there."

Castiel almost let his anger take a hold of him, but kept it in check, stepping back. He exhaled through his nose, and looked at the girl. "I am sorry about your father, Olivia; were I to go back, I would not repeat my actions."

"Because you lost?" She sarcastically surmised.

"Because I see now that everything I did was wrong." He told her. "And I am sorry that you are paying for my mistake."

She looked taken aback; she hadn't expected a genuine apology from him. She had seen his memories, she had seen how it had happened, but only now was she meeting the man who committed them.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Everyone seems to be paying for your mistakes, don't they?" She whispered. "People are dying because of you."

Cas thought of Bobby. "I know. And I will help stop it."

She scoffed. "Better do it fast." She spat the words out darkly. "How much longer do you have?" She asked. "How many more times can you wipe away their cuts and bruises? How many more times can you teleport? Exorcise Demons? You're running out, Cassie; if you're not going to be their angel in a dirty trench coat, what will you be?" She looked down at him. "You don't even have your coat any more. How pathetic is that?"

"You shouldn't concern yourself with that." He told her, slight sarcasm coming out to play.

"You're just sand in an hourglass, Cas." She told him. "You can try and stop it from falling, but sooner or later, there's not going to be anything left."

He stepped forward again, this time stood close, towering over her, looking down his nose to her. "I will still be there. I am not my powers."

He felt something sharp press across his stomach and jolted back. She was grinning, holding the blade in her hand, pointing it at him. "Careful, sweetheart; I might change my mind yet." She laughed, and lowered it. "Why don't you run back to your little hunter before he starts to wonder where you are?"

"What will you do?"

"Things to see, people to do." She sung out as she began to walk away. "Don't worry – you'll be seeing me."


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel watched Olivia walk away, making certain of her disappearance before leaving the area.

He could kill her now, if he so chose. He still had some power, enough left to kill the girl; she was only human, sort of, after all. Though he doubted it would be that easy. And the thought of killing left him with a gnawing worry in his heart: he did not want to disappoint Dean further.

Dean. Dean was still in the motel, passing the time while probably doing very little. He knew Sam's instructions were to watch the angel, but Dean was undoubtedly unwilling; he had not come to look for him, and there was little chance that he would.

There was no need for him to go inside, other than his own childish desire to be near the hunter. That being said, he also feared being around him; he feared the sullen silences, the pointed ignorance, the sharp words. But more than that, he feared the sadness that was emanating from Dean in waves – the emotion that the hunter could not recognise, but that Cas had seen last night when he had been yelled at, and all the sadness that radiated off of Dean whilst he slept.

Cas didn't know if he was the cause of Dean's sadness, of how much of a role he had in it, but he knew he wanted to fix it. He knew that he wanted to be the one to see Dean's smile for the first time again. The real smile, not the callous, sarcastic smile.

But Cas did not know how to do this. Cas didn't know how to fix it.

Though he had an inkling.

"Then why the hell did you leave? Why did you leave me?"

Dean's voice still rung in Cas's head, each echo of it more pained than the last until it was all that he could do to not run in there and... and what? Do what? What could he do?

He walked back to the motel. Dean was upset because Cas left him. So Cas would be near him. Perhaps that would do something.

He was back for Dean. And apparently he was here to stay.

He walked into the motel without knocking, and Dean glanced up from Sam's laptop, though rolled his eyes and looked away quickly.

"You managed to be outside without getting yourself killed, then?" Dean quipped. "Sam will be amazed."

Cas sat down on the bed. "I remain well." He said patiently. "Though it was not as safe as I had expected."

Dean looked round. "What, a car drove a little too close?" He asked sarcastically.

"I was not in any danger from any vehicles." Cas replied. "However, Olivia did make an appearance."

Dean's eyes widened at the mention of Olivia, and he subconsciously gripped the plastic ridge of the chair as he looked up at the angel. "She-? What happened?"

"She did not harm me."

"Yeah, I can see that!" Dean cried, looking the angel up and down. "Why not? What changed her mind?"

"She..." Cas stopped himself, unsure whether to tell him of Zedkiel's visit. He knew he should, he knew it was relevant, and that it was the sort of important information one should tell those they care about... but he didn't want to voice it yet. Despite his awareness that he should not lie to Dean, not again, he just couldn't say it. He didn't think he could take Dean's snide comments again, not about that. Not yet. "She felt the suspense would be more entertaining." Cas finished quietly.

Dean's jaw set, anger flashed in his eyes. Cas was taken aback; he had seen that look many times in the last day, but that one felt different. He didn't feel like it was aimed at him. It was protective, it was hurt, and for Cas, it was hope.

And then it was gone. Dean blinked, swallowed, and turned away, back to Sam's laptop.

"Just... stay inside." Dean told him. "Until we sort her out. Stay inside."

Cas didn't say anything for a few seconds, touched by the flash of care that Dean had shown then.

"Whatever you think is best."


	16. Chapter 16

Nothing was said in the short time that Dean and Cas were alone in that motel room together. Cas remained sitting on the bed, moving little, and returned to the knitting magazine that he had flicked through the previous night. Dean stared at the laptop, viewing internet based lore of Nephilim, but not coming across anything of use. Occasionally Cas would see Dean's hands ball into fists, his knuckles turning white as he gritted his jaw and his eyes shone, but no words were said. Cas didn't know what it meant. He looked angry, that's all he could tell.

And, of course, Dean was angry. Anger had seemed to be the overriding emotion recently; anger and sadness, but right now anger was presiding. He was angry at Cas, but that wasn't new. He was angry at himself, but again, that had been with him for a long time now. Weirdly, most of all, he was angry at Olivia; he perhaps should've been empathising with her, but what Cas had said... what she had said... she wasn't just out for revenge, she was taking pleasure in making his-

In torturing Cas.

And for some reason, he wasn't okay with that.

Not that he was okay with Cas either, don't get him wrong. He was still a bottle full of angry angry anger and sour feelings, but... he was the one who got to be angry at the angel. This girl wasn't going to kill him. Not on his watch.

These somewhat changed feelings didn't change how he felt about spending time with the angel. He didn't want to see him, he didn't want to know that he was there. Just him being there was filling him with something that tied his stomach into knots and made him want to smash something. So he didn't say anything, and nor did Cas. The both of them stayed silent during the hour and a half that they were there alone.

Cas had theoretically learnt three different types of knitting by the time that Sam had returned. Dean stood up instantly, relieved by the presence of another person in the room, and at once turned his attention to him.

"What did you find out?" He asked. "Anything?"

"Not much." Sam shrugged, taking off his jacket and sitting down.

"What took you so long then?"

"I didn't say nothing." Sam corrected. "I found out that you spent last night about two feet from her."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Apparently, she was in the back room of the bar all night. Got in there when she heard you coming, that's why the car was there."

"All night?"

"Yup." Sam confirmed. "She made it worth the bartenders while to lie to you."

"She was- what?"

"All the time you were there."

"Wow." Dean whistled. "Classy."

"Did the trick." Sam folded his arms and looked somewhat scornfully to his brother. "You never noticed she was there. You were too busy smashing things and getting chucked out."

"Hey!" Dean protested. "I was there for hours before anything got smashed. And the girl there..." He chuckled. "Man, if I'd've been around at closing time..."

"...You would've been rejected." Sam finished. "The lovely bartender Mandy was complaining about a drunk who was there last night, who apparently couldn't make up his mind on whether he wanted to hit on her, or to just sit there and complain about his friend."

Dean blinked, unfazed. "Must've been some other guy. After I left."

"Sure it was." Sam coddled. "You didn't match the description at all."

"Whatever." Dean huffed, sitting back down. "Don't you wanna hear what happened when you were out?"

"Something happened?" Sam looked to Cas. "What?"

"Cas got a visitor." Dean nodded to the angel, who looked surprised. It was the first time the hunter had said his name without total vehemence since he got back.

"Yes." Cas agreed. "Olivia was here."

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"She threatened me, but did not harm me." Cas explained, and Sam motioned for him to continue. "She says she will kill me later."

"Why?"

"Cos she's a sadistic bitch, that's why." Dean chimed in. "She's trying to make him scared. She's torturing him."

It was Sam's turn to look surprised, and he raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Right. So what are we doing?"

"We kill her." Dean said. "I'm not about to let her kill anyone so she can get her rocks off."

"Dean, she's human. We try to avoid killing humans, in case you've forgotten..."

"She's human by a technicality. And we tend to forget that little rule when they're particularly annoying."

"We're not killing her!" Sam protested. "Not unless we have to. And right now, we don't."

Dean squared his shoulders and stood tall, though not nearly as tall as Sam. "Well, what do you suggest we do?"

"We move." He told him firmly. "She knows where we are. We move to another town, and figure out our plan from there."

"We're running from a little girl?"

"At the moment, yeah."

They stared each other down for a few seconds, and Cas watched in fascination. He had always found their arguments compelling, and could never figure out the rules of them, especially when logic was disregarded, and it descended into staring competitions.

He didn't understand how Sam won, but apparently, he did.

Sam stood. "Right. Let's get going."

They drove for fifteen minutes, Sam and Dean up front, Cas in the backseat. Unsurprisingly, the town was not unlike the last, with the slight change of the motel being on the high street instead of a walk away. But the motel was pretty much identical, though that wasn't saying much.

"One room, two beds." Dean requested. The bored looking, middle aged man behind the desk glanced at the three men, raised his eyebrows, but granted it to them once Dean handed over his card. Dean and Sam had long since gotten over the accusatory looks of being two men sharing a hotel room, but they did notice the added weirdness when a third man was added to the equation. Especially when they hadn't asked for any more beds.

Cas, of course, didn't notice any of this. He had never really been that in tune with the nuances and prejudices of Earth, and since his return, he didn't seem any different.

They took their meagre things to the room and set themselves down. Dean checked the clock, wondering if it was time to go to the bar yet, caring little either way.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam had only left the room for a few minutes in search of a vending machine, but he quickly returned, bounding into the room a little too fast.

"I think we've got a case." He announced, chucking a coke at Dean, who caught it swiftly.

"That was quick." He commented, cracking open the can. "Is the vending machine haunted?"

"No, but it did eat my quarter." Sam admitted. "I heard these two old ladies talking outside of the launderette-"

"You were eavesdropping on little old ladies?" Dean scoffed as he slurped. "Dude, you gotta get a hobby."

"Says the guy who drinks his own body weight in alcohol every night."

"It's a legitimate passtime." Dean countered. "So what were Patty and Selma saying?"

"Well, apparently their friend, Hilda, was seen at her old house." Sam said. Dean blinked, underwhelmed.

"Better call the cops, Sammie; sounds serious." Dean quipped. "Do we need a bomb squad or the full blown army?"

"Shut up. Hilda died last year."

Dean took another sip. "Okay, getting warmer."

"And, the new, younger, wife has just been taken into hospital."

"What for?"

"A bookshelf fell on her." Sam said. "A few broken ribs, and a fractured wrist, nothing too serious..."

"Are you suggesting that the ghost of Hilda is trying to kill this new wife?" Castiel asked, looking up at them both from the bed. Dean and Sam looked round, not having expected Cas to chime in on the conversation. Cas seemed unaware of their surprise, merely looking on in curiosity.

"Yeah, that's what it looks like." Sam confirmed.

"Anymore signs of a haunting?" Dean asked.

"I checked. Apparently they've been having a lot of difficulty with the heating in the house..."

"Cold spots." Dean checked off.

"And the new wife has been complaining about rats in the walls."

"Sounds like a haunting to me." Dean agreed. "Finally, something to do!"

"Right. Here's the address..." Sam handed him a slip of paper.

"How'd you get that?"

"Told them I was a friend of the family." Sam said. "The usual. Anyway, you go there with Cas, I'm going to talk to the mrs."

"Wait, what?" Dean backtracked. "Go with Cas?"

"It's always good to go with a partner!" Sam reminded him. "You look far more credible." He smiled.

"Not when my partner is mister socially-awkward over there!" Dean cried, looking round at the angel who was sitting on the bed, and whose forehead creased at the words. He lowered his voice. "Come on, Sam..."

"Nope."

"How come you get to talk to the hot wife?" Dean huffed.

"Because you love the burning bit." Sam reminded as he smirked. Frankly, he was pleased to have an excuse to give Dean and Cas something to do together; it might remind his stubborn sibling of why he used to like the angel in the first place. "Go on! Do your job!" He slapped him hard on the arm.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously?"

"Completely." Sam grinned. He motioned to Cas, who, after a seconds delay, stood up.

"Great." Dean sighed. "Fine. You ready?" He asked the man behind him, who nodded.

"Yes. I am ready." Castiel agreed, and Dean took his hand away from his face.

Cas reached out, index finger extended, ready to touch Dean's forehead and transport them to where they needed to be, but stopped an inch from his skin. Dean winced in anticipation, but this quickly turned to confusion as he looked at Cas's fingers hovering before his face.

"What are you doing?" He asked gruffly.

Cas didn't say what was wrong. Dean wouldn't understand, probably due to the fact that he hadn't told him what the problem was. He could easily take him there in an instant, probably... but he remembered his dying grace, and knew that this simple act would sap away at a chunk of it.

His powers weren't unlimited any more, he couldn't just use them as freely as he did before if he wanted them to last. He could still be one of the more powerful beings in all the cosmos... if he didn't use his powers.

He lowered his hand.

"I remembered... you don't like to travel in that fashion." Castiel bluffed, quickly thinking up a reasonable explanation for why he couldn't take them a short distance. "We can take the car."

"You already did it yesterday, I think the damage is done." Dean huffed.

Cas struggled to think up a reasonable excuse. "I do not know the area. I doubt I could get us there accurately."

Dean accepted this with a sigh. "Fine, whatever." He shrugged and pushed past Sam, out of the door.

Cas felt stung, almost as if Dean's slight disappointment then had been a physical blow. Sam shrugged.

"At least he's talking to you now." Sam pointed out. He patted the angel awkwardly on the shoulder. "He'll get better."

Cas didn't answer, not quite knowing how to respond. Instead he followed Dean out of the motel and into the car. The stereo was already on loud, pre-emptively drowning out the awkwardness that was going to occur. Cas opened the door and sat down, closing the door behind him. Dean didn't look at his passenger, instead just starting the car.

Cas looked straight on, not filling the silence with words. And this worked, for about half a minute, until the blinking orange light on the dashboard became too annoying, and frankly confusing, for the angel to bear.

"Dean; your 'check engine' light is on." Cas pointed out.

"It's the car. It's a piece of crap." He grunted back.

Cas looked around, noticing that it was, indeed, not the car that he was so used to. "This vehicle is different." He commented. "It is not as pleasing as your usual mode of transportation."

Dean raised an eyebrow and cast a glance at the angel. He hadn't realised Cas had had any preference to the Impala. "We flashed up on the feds radar, had to change our style." Dean huffed.

Cas didn't say anything for a minute, merely looked at the interior of the car. He had known the old one well, could list the kinks and scars that made the car theirs... the scratched initials, the army men, the rattle in the radiator. This car had none of that; it was plain, underwhelming; it did not fit.

He glanced at Dean, who was steadfastly looking at the road ahead, and Cas turned to do the same.

"I am sorry for your loss." The angel said, thinking that from what he had learnt of human customs, that was the correct thing to say. He didn't know that it was usually a term reserved for death, otherwise he might have used it referring to Bobby, but he shouldn't.

The tightening grip on the wheel and the clench of Dean's jaw confirmed that it had, in fact, been precisely the right thing to say.


	18. Chapter 18

They arrived at the address fairly quickly, the town wasn't big. The house that they pulled up at was quaint, but clearly was past its prime. The remains of a dead garden were in front of the house, bedraggled flowers wilting in the sun, untrimmed hedges and an unmown lawn. In the driveway was a flashy sports car, sleek and red, clearly expensive. Dean looked at it, mourning the Impala again.

The house wasn't too big, it was, in fact, a bungalow, but its back garden stretched far and wide, clearly holding a lot of the value of the property. Dean peered through the window and saw the interior furnishings.

He whistled. "Man, that is a big TV." He admired. "Imagine watching a game on that." He looked round, and apparently remembered who he was with. He stood tall, straightened his face, and reached into his pocket, looking for correct ID.

Castiel cocked his head. "Is size relative to enjoyment?" He asked.

Dean frowned, unsure as to whether Cas understood quite what he was asking. But then, when it came to saying humorous things, he rarely understood what he was saying.

"No. I guess not." He replied. Handing Cas some ID, and motioning for him to put it in his suit pocket, he knocked on the door.

There was a long wait. Dean knocked again, and wondered briefly whether they should simply break in, but the door was opened, and an old man was standing behind it.

"Hello, sir." Dean warmly greeted. "We're here to look at your heating; we've had complaints that it's not been working correctly."

The old man peered at them, clearly confused. His thick, white eyebrows hung over the frame of his glasses. "What about the people who looked at it yesterday? I'm sure they said nothing was wrong."

"This is just a follow up inspection." Dean said reassuringly. "Mind if we take a look?"

"Uhm..." The man sighed. "Sorry, but do you have any papers, any identification...?" He asked, almost apologetically, and Dean smiled again.

"Of course!" He took it out of his pocket, and nudged Cas to do the same. "It's always good to check."

"Yes, it is." The old man took both cards, and squinted at them through his glasses. "You hear all sorts; people pretending to be salesmen..." He handed them back, apparently satisfied. "Not you, though; of course."

"We're very reputable." Dean soothed as he walked in.

"We are not here to rob you of your possessions." Castiel chimed in, clearly trying to be helpful, but not succeeding. Dean shot him a look, and the man looked confused.

"Right." Dean agreed. "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Bill." The old man smiled. "Bill West."

"Pleasure to meet you, Bill West." Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Nice house, you got here. Shame about the cold spots."

"Yes, yes; they are worrying." Bill sighed.

"Where are they?" Dean asked, and the man ushered them into the living room, in front of a large bookshelf.

"Right here." The man said, pointing at a spot on the floor, directly in front of the bookshelf. It was half filled with books, others scattered around on the floor, pushed to the wall.

Dean stood in it, holding a hand to steady the shelf in case it tried any funny business. "Huh." Dean pondered. "Anything happen here? Anything odd?"

"W-what do you mean?" Bill stuttered.

"Just curious." Dean stepped back out of the spot.

"Well... it is strange." The old man sighed. "That's the very spot that my wife had a heart attack and died."

"Really?" Dean asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Her spirit must be drawn to that location." Cas suggested, and Bill looked confused again.

"Stop it." Dean warned, before turning back to the old man. "I'm very sorry about your wife."

"Thank you." The man said. "It happened last year... still doesn't feel like she's quite gone."

"It can sometimes feel that way." Dean sympathised. He looked absently at the thermostat on the wall, tapping it intellectually, but doing nothing.

Bill looked at the two of them, a frown on his face. "You two aren't in uniform like the others."

"Ah," Dean gave him his most charming smile. "Casual Friday."

"Your colleague doesn't seem to be very casual." He looked at Cas's suit.

"He usually wears a tux." Dean joked. Cas looked vaguely uncomfortable and looked down at his suit, before Dean cleared his throat, gesturing at a photo on the shelf of Bill and a younger woman. "Is that your daughter?"

"Wife, actually." Bill smiled. "I remarried."

Dean looked taken aback. "Wow, man; lucky you!"

Bill smiled. "I am very lucky."

"How'd you manage to snag-"

"Dean." Cas interrupted. Dean turned round, and Cas glowered at him. "The job."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Of course." He turned to smile at Bill, and went back to faux studying the thermostat. "So how long ago did your first wife die?"

"Uhm, a year." Bill told him.

"And did you bury her?" Dean asked, perhaps a little too abruptly, and the old man looked a little surprised.

"No." He told them. "I cremated her."

"Oh." Dean's face fell slightly, realising his job was about to get more difficult. "But not all of her, I bet."

"What's that meant to mean?" Bill asked defensively.

"Most people keep some kind of keepsake – a lock of hair, or something. Did you do that?"

"Well, yes?" He looked confused. "I- I did? How did you know?"

"Oh, just thinking out loud." Dean laughed. "Where is it?"

Bill frowned, clearly getting more suspicious by the minute. "I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with my heating?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing, just making conversation." He said, looking back to thermometer. "Well, I can't see anything wrong with it here... I guess we'll send someone else to take a look at it." He stepped back and smiled.

Cas, who had been watching the proceedings as a bystander found himself looking more closely now. For the first time since he had been back, he saw Dean smile, saw the corners of his mouth lift and move the flesh of his cheeks up to crinkle at the eyes. He saw this, but he knew it wasn't right, it wasn't real. It wasn't the true smile, the smile he'd seen on occasion, the smiles that he had been the cause of. This was a smile for show, a smile as part of the facade, and it was not real.

"Well." The old man huffed. "Well then, I'd better ask you to leave. I have to go to visit my wife in the hospital."

Dean smile turned apologetic; Castiel noted it: a tilt of the head, a pursing of the lips. "We won't keep you from that any longer, then." He turned to Cas. "Come on."

The hunter walked out of the front door, leaving the confused old man behind. Cas hesitated, and turned to him.

"My condolences." He offered, before turning on his heel and following Dean out of the door, which got quickly shut behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

Cas didn't look behind, merely followed Dean straight to the car and got in. The hunter was now on the phone, and didn't look up at Cas. Dean nodded.

"Right. Makes sense with the old man too; burnt her, but kept some hair. Ghost then."

Cas heard Sam's tinny voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, it's going fine." Dean glanced to Cas. "Didn't get kicked out too fast."

Sam spoke again.

"No, should be fine." Dean sighed. "See you later."

Dean hung up before turning the radio back on and beginning to drive.

"I assume we will be returning." Castiel said.

"We'll stakeout until he leaves, then we go in and find the hair." He said. "The ghost'll be attached to that. Sam talked to the new wife; she definitely saw old Hilda."

Cas nodded, and looked out of the window, watching the scenery go slowly by as Dean turned the car around and wound up parking down the street they were just in, though further down so they would not be seen by old Bill.

After a few minutes, Cas sighed, and Dean looked up.

"What?"

Cas looked to the hunter, surprised at the attention, but Dean quickly looked away again, looking back at the house.

"I do not understand human sentimentality." Cas stated.

"So what else is new?" Dean muttered.

"Why would Bill West have kept a lock of his wife's hair?" Castiel wondered aloud. "I have noticed that humans find corpse's grotesque, yet he keeps a part of one..."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's... yeah, it's a bit weird, but," He frowned, trying to explain. "It's like holding on to them. If you've still got a piece of them, they're not completely gone."

"And this is different to photographs?"

"You got it." Dean huffed, steadfastly looking out of the window.

"Have you ever partaken in this activity?" The angel asked, though suddenly regretted his question when the hunter looked back at him, coldness in his eyes. He shut his mouth and shuffled slightly uncomfortably; he had forgotten, just for a moment, that it wasn't how it had used to be. Dean was no longer in the mood to satisfy his curiosity about humanity, no longer willing to answer personal questions about himself. He was barely willing to have Cas in the same car as him.

But Dean merely looked away again, clearing his throat. "Yeah." He told him. "I kept my Dad's jacket, I kept Jo's gun... it's not quite a chunk of their hair, or something gross like that, but it's something."

Cas looked at him, amazed once more at the hunter. Each time he'd thought he understood the man, he'd find out something new, and this was no exception. Since he had returned, all he had seen of the hunter was his cold side, the front he'd put up so as nothing could hurt him again. He had feared that this is all he would ever see of him. But that moment, that admission of warmth...

Cas smiled.

Dean was looking out of the window. He didn't want Cas to see his face, or his eyes, which were currently a little too shiny. He blinked away the slight moisture. Damnit, that angel was beginning to chip away at his boundaries... again.

He didn't think Cas really knew what he was asking. He was just confused by human customs again, and he wanted to see how they fit in to the hunters lives. When he had asked if he had kept anything for no reason other than for sentiment...

He thought back to the trench coat, lying alone but not forgotten in the trunk of the impala, many miles away from here. He had kept it, but he hadn't looked at it since the day he put it there. It wasn't like his Dad, it wasn't like Jo – he kept their things and used them, it was his way of remembering. The coat, Cas... he wanted to forget. But he never did.

Cas didn't know what he had been asking.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw movement outside. Bill was leaving his house and getting into a car parked out front.

"Show time." Dean commented.

Back to the job.


	20. Chapter 20

As soon as Bill's car was a safe distance away, Dean and Cas left their own rustbucket and walked over to the house. Cas watched carefully, taking his cues from Dean, and noticed that though the hunter walked with purpose and confidence, he was stealing glances, checking to make sure they weren't being watched.

Dean looked round briefly, but trusted Dean's judgement that they were unwatched as they approached the door. Dean tried the handle, testing its weight, and slipped from his pocket a small piece of folded leather and flipped it open. Cas looked in fascination at the small tools inside it, the thin metal contraptions.

Dean considered them, and picked out a thin one. Cas tilted his head as he watched Dean put it into the lock in the door.

"Fascinating." Cas muttered. Dean looked up in annoyance.

"What?"

"Humans build doors to keep people out, yet readily sell contraptions enabling others to can break in." Cas frowned. "It seems... counterproductive."

Dean scowled. "Whatever, Spock; you're in my light."

Cas looked confused, but stepped to the right when Dean flapped his arm, motioning for him to move. His workspace now illuminated, Dean quickly got the door open and ushered the both of them inside, trying to be both casual and quick, lest any curious neighbours notice.

The house was darker now. As the day worked itself into the middle of the afternoon and the sun began to set, it no longer naturally lit the house, and the rooms seemed duller, less homely, and far more like the type of place a ghost might haunt.

Though, Dean knew, it didn't necessarily have to feel like a haunted house for it to be one.

"Right." Dean called to the angel behind him. "Look for the lock of hair. It'll probably be in something, a photo frame, a locket..."

"Alright." Cas agreed, and stayed still on the spot, turning his head. Dean looked at him incredulously.

"He's probably not got it in the hallway." Dean reminded, and Cas took a few steps further in, still looking around. "Try not to break anything."

Dean walked back into the living room. First going to the fireplace, he picked up two large pokers and swung them in his hands expertly, before handing one to Cas. The angel took it, but looked unsure of its purpose.

"Iron." Dean clarified. "In case old Hilda attacks."

Dean then turned to look at the bookshelf. Of all the places to put it, it was a logical start. Cas looked on top of the mantelpiece.

"Isn't there anything you can do to speed this up?" Dean asked.

"What would you suggest?" Cas replied, looking up.

"I dunno," Dean shrugged, running his hand along the shelves. "Isn't there some funky angel power that means you can just... find something?" He squatted, looking at the lower shelves. "It'd make the job a hell of a lot quicker."

Cas paused, thinking. He knew that he could do what Dean was asking. He knew that he could find it much faster if he were to use his God-given talents... but, he wouldn't. He couldn't just do whatever he pleased, not with his abilities, he had to save them.

There was no rush to find it. They were in no immediate danger. He would not use it.

"No." Cas told him. "I have nothing like that."

"Awesome." Dean huffed. He stood up again, satisfied it wasn't on the book shelf. Peering at all of the surfaces in the room, unable to see it, and walked into the kitchen.

Cas followed, not knowing what else to do. He couldn't see it in there either, but Dean seemed to think it might be in the fridge. At least, that was what it looked like, before Dean pulled a beer from it, opened it, and drunk it, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You think that the hair might be at the bottom of that bottle?" Cas asked, sarcasm twitching.

Dean winced. "God, I hope not." He took another slurp. "Lighten up. We're doing him a favour here, least he can do is shout me a drink."

"We have not done him a favour yet." Cas reminded. He stared at Dean, watching as the hunter paused, clearly disconcerted by the gaze from those big blue eyes. After a few seconds he sighed and put down the beer.

"Fine." He agreed. He looked briefly round the kitchen, but decided that this room probably wasn't the place to keep a lock of hair.

And so they searched the rooms. They went from the kitchen to the dining room, to the study, to the second living room. All of these were free of treasured locks of hair.

"Gotta be the bedrooms, then." Dean said. "Don't get any weird ideas."

Cas frowned. "I'm not sure what would constitute as a weird idea." He said. "Though some might deem breaking into a house to burn some hair as 'weird'."

Dean shook his head. "Just... Never mind."

They walked in, and Dean went straight to the chest of drawers pushed against the wall. While he carefully checked all of the items there, Cas went to the bedside cabinets, looking at them. A photo stood in a frame on one, and Cas picked it up, looking at it. It was Bill West and the younger wife, standing in front of the house and smiling. But Cas saw more. At the very edges of the photo, past the paper, was a slight crease, a bump, a hint of something beneath. He flipped it over and, after fiddling with an annoying rotating clasp, flicked the back of the frame off.

Behind it lay another picture, the same one, but with one change. Bill West stood with someone else, an older lady, Hilda. And with the picture was the lock of hair, wrapped in a piece of black string, the grey strands striking against it.

"Dean." Cas called, and the hunter looked up.

"You got it?" Dean walked over and nodded. "Perfect. Let's get that roasted, then." He said.

Walking out of the room and back into the living room, he found a waste paper bin. Cas followed, still holding the picture frame with the lock of hair. He looked at Dean, who looked somewhat disinterested, having practised this a thousand times before, before extracting the hair from the frame and dropping it into the bin.

Dean pulled out of his pocket a few sachets of salt, reserved for smaller jobs such as these, and tore them open, spilling the contents onto the remains. Then he pulled out his lighter, looked at it for a second before readying to light it.

He was interrupted.

Cas saw before Dean did. Standing behind the hunter was a little old lady, small, hunched and pale, with dark rings under her eyes and a hand clutching her chest.

"Dean!" Cas yelled, gesturing at the ghost. Dean turned round, and the woman flicked instantly to him.

"How could you do this to me?" She croaked, gasping, clawing at her chest. "How could you?"

She reached out to Dean and grabbed his neck, pushing him against the bookcase. Cas looked around frantically, seeing Dean had dropped his poker. He tried to frantically remember where he had put his own, realising he must have dropped it somewhere in the house. Stepping forward he grabbed at the ghost, but his grip had no effect; there was a reason you don't pick a fist fight with a spirit.

"Cas!" Dean rasped. "The hair!"

The woman's eyes turned suddenly to Cas, and he felt a surge of disgust at this mutilated spirit, at the trauma that must have occurred to force her to remain this way. He pitied her.

Not enough to let her continue. Not when she had Dean pinned up against the wall, attempting to pry the life from him.

She let go of Dean and took a furious step towards the angel, but in doing so managed to kick the bin out of the way, into the corner of the room, with herself blocking the way for the both of them.

"Hey!" Dean yelled at the ghost, and she looked round. "Over here, bitch!" He yelled.

"You!" She wheezed. "How could you do this?"

"Yeah, yeah." He taunted. "That's right, focus on me."

Cas froze, watching Dean, waiting to see what his plan was.

"Here?" She wailed. "You did this in our own home?"

"Yadda yadda." Dean was looking around for the poker again, clearly stuck for a plan past that extended past get her away from Cas.

Out of time. She shoved him back up against the bookshelf, clawing at his chest.

Cas didn't hesitate this time. Not knowing what else to do, he scooped the lighter from the floor, and in less than a fraction of a second he was across the room, dropping the lighter into the basket as he sunk to the floor, the sheer act of this minor use of grace painful. Apparently, even teleporting was a huge drain. He forced himself to look back to the bookshelf, where he could see the spirit go up in flames, and Dean fall back against shelves, breathing heavily.

"About time too." Dean panted, but his eyebrows raised when he saw the angel on the floor, visibly feeble. "What's wrong?"

Cas's whole body ached. A dull, bruising ache coursed across his bones, and he felt as if the air had been squeezed from his lungs. But he forced himself to stand up, and within a few seconds the pain had all but left, leaving only a slight flinching pain in his chest.

"Nothing is wrong." Castiel hissed, still getting his breath back. "I simply fell."

"You fell?" Dean repeated, unable to believe it? "Since when do angels-" He stopped himself, realising his exact phrasing. That was an entirely different question. "Since when do you have an inner ear problem?"

Cas frowned, not in the mood to try and decipher Dean's wording. The hunter, sensing Cas's mood, shrugged, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever." He said. "Job done. Let's go."

Dean turned to leave, but Cas looked at the picture frame that he had dropped. It had not shattered, luckily, and he bent to pick it up.

"One moment." He said. He neatened the pictures, putting them back in the positions that he had found them in, and clasped it all back together. He then walked back to the bedroom and returned it to its place, next to the bed. If Bill were to look for the hair any time soon, he would be disappointed, but until then, he could keep things just the way they were.

He went back to the hallway where Dean was waiting for him.

"We may leave now." Castiel told him, sweeping out of the door. Dean closed it behind them, and walked after the angel towards the car.


	21. Chapter 21

They got into the car, and Cas sat down heavily. Dean raised an eyebrow and sat down too, closing the door behind him. He went to start the car, but glanced back to his passenger. The angel seemed different, he seemed... upset? Angry?

He was looking out of the passenger window, but Dean could just about see his face, could see he was clenched, could hear his breathing, slightly more forcefully than usual. His elbow was propped up on the windowsill of the car door, and he was worrying his lips with his fingers.

Dean watched for a few seconds, weighing up the pro's and con's of simply driving the car, or asking the angel what was wrong.

He wanted to ask. His preservation instinct was telling him nothing good would come from asking. That he should keep the angel distanced; he was only going to leave again, what was the point in making the effort now?

Reluctantly, he looked away and turned the key, starting the car and driving away, angel still fuming in the passenger seat. Dean turned on the stereo, music blasting out to mask the silence.

Each time he did that, it worked less and less.

Refusing to believe there was anything wrong with the technique, he decided to change tape. All of the tapes were in the glove compartment, located at Cas's knees. Reluctant to go there himself, he cleared his throat.

The angel did not turn.

"Hey." Dean barked, finally succeeding in getting his attention. He swallowed, finding himself under the fire of Cas's glare. "Can you go in there and grab a tape?"

After a second of the angel merely staring at him scornfully, he slowly turned away, looking at the compartment. He reached down and pushed the button, watched it as it opened.

"Which would you prefer?"

Dean shrugged. "Whatever you hit first."

Cas leant over slightly and put his hand in there, feeling around for a cassette tape, hands stumbling across everything else that lay in there. Most prominent was the bulky, familiar journal of John Winchester, still pulled out and thumbed through, though less frequently than it used to. Then there were sweet wrappers, papers, two guns, old phones and lighters, until finally his fingers closed around the familiar feel of the hard plastic. He drew it out, and Dean frowned.

"No, not that one." Dean shook his head. "Try another."

Cas rolled his eyes, an expression he had picked up from the hunter a long time ago, and reached back in. However, this time, instead of finding a tape, his finger hit something sharp, running along the flesh and slicing it.

He yelped and snatched his hand back, sending papers flying and tapes falling with a thump to the floor.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean cried, eyes flicking from the road to the distressed angel who was examining his finger.

"It-" Cas's eyes were wide and darting from his finger to Dean. "It cut me."

"What?" Dean peered in, looking for the offending object. "What did? Did we leave a knife in there?"

"No," Cas stared at his finger, holding it as if it might fall off. "It was paper!"

"Paper? What?" Dean frowned, seriously confused. "You're throwing a fit over a paper cut?"

"Dean, it hurts!" Cas whined, clearly distressed, unused to this feeling.

"But, it's a paper cut!" Dean said. "You're an angel! You don't get paper cuts!"

"Well, clearly I do, Dean." Cas huffed. "What do I do?"

"Heal it!" Dean sarcastically suggested, still keeping an eye on the angel.

"What would you do?" Cas cried. "Dean, there's blood!"

"Suck it." Dean told him, and Cas looked at him, eyes confused with a tiny bit of hurt. He'd heard Dean say that before, enough to know that it was generally an insult. Dean backtracked. "No, I mean it. Suck your finger. Spit heals, or something."

Cas obediently stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking the injured digit. His eyebrows were still furrowed as his tongue worked the wound, and Dean watched him. His eyes followed, fascinated, as the angel sucked the finger, the angel still continuing to astonish him. This being of immense power, who had lived for millennia, who had helped stop the apocalypse, and who had been physically damaged on numerous occasions, was now sorrowfully sucking his finger because of a freaking paper cut.

He swallowed, and looked away quickly, realising just what he was doing; watching another man suck his finger. No. Dean Winchester does not watch another man suck his finger off. Just... just no.

Not even angels.

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road, but couldn't help stealing a glance back. And then the weirdest thing happened.

He saw Cas's eyes looking down at his finger, worry clouding his features. Cas's eyes were crossed slightly, trying to see.

And he just looked so damn funny. He truly did. The angel who was God had gone cross eyed over a paper cut.

It started at Dean's mouth. The corners twitched of their own accord, the lips separating as he looked at Cas, his eyes creasing at the corners. Then, instead of exhaling normally, his breath came out short, a scoff, then again. And then, suddenly, he was laughing. He was laughing at the angel with his finger in his mouth. He was suddenly laughing so hard that he had to stop driving, he had to pull over the car so that he could laugh. He wrapped an arm around his stomach while the other clutched on to the steering wheel.

Cas stared at the hunter, eyes wide as Dean shook with laughter.

"I fail to see the humour!" He mumbled indignantly around his finger. "This hurts!"

Dean only laughed harder, leaning back against the car seat.

Cas took the finger out of his mouth. "Will it heal?" He asked, concerned, but the hunter just continued to laugh, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Cas didn't understand why Dean was laughing at his misfortune, but he didn't think it was malicious. He had seen Dean rejoice in revenge, and this wasn't that; this was Dean genuinely finding something hilarious. This was like the time that Dean had taken Cas to the brothel. He had said that it was the most fun he'd had in a long time.

Somehow, Cas had managed to recreate that with a paper cut.

The angel smiled, elated at Dean's joy.

"God, I'm sorry," Dean cried between laughs. "Your face was just so damn funny!"

Cas smiled wider, the knowledge that he had, if just momentarily, made Dean happy sat well with him.

"Ah..." Dean sighed, wiping his eyes and turning back to the road, shaking his head, a smile still dancing on his face. "Let's get you back to Sammy."


	22. Chapter 22

He dropped Cas off at the motel, not bothering to stop and check in with Sam. He'd just successfully finished a job, and that meant he deserved a drink.

That being said, everything he did meant he deserved a drink, these days.

Leaving the car in the lot, he walked onto the high street, checking out each shop as he went along. It was coming up to five in the afternoon, which meant that, for once, he was going to start drinking at a socially acceptable time. Not that it mattered – it was always five somewhere.

After a few minutes of walking, he found himself at a bar... unsurprising, really; every town has at least one in some form or another, and nowadays Dean was as good a hunter in alcohol as he was in the supernatural.

The bar was much more peaceably named than the last for Dean's liking; 'Tony's'. A nice, non descript name, nothing to remind him of anything. Tony, average Joe, the local watering hole for the masses. Plenty of room to lose himself in a crowd for an evening.

The bar was fairly quiet, it being only just five in the afternoon, but he guessed it would get busier as the night went on. Friday's were busy for bars.

Though, as he looked at it as he went it, he decided that might not be the case.

It fell into one of his two favourite categories of bars. The first were the 'chick bars', often used for hen-nights or where women met up with their friends. These bars usually sold plenty of cocktails, and were generally female friendly. These were the bars Dean would go to when he wanted some company for the night.

This bar fell into the second category. The lighting was pretty dull. A thin layer of grime covered the surfaces. Seating was sparse, but few were occupied. He was unlikely to be bothered, which suited him fine. Recently he'd had more of a preference for this type of hole, though he would, of course, return to category 1 when he desired its services.

He sat down on one of the stools, placed his elbows on the counter and got settled. The bartender turned to him, not saying anything, just raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Not the talkative type?" Dean smirked. "Suits me just fine."

"I'm plenty talkative if you're tipping well enough." The man grunted.

"Yeah, well; I think I can make do without that." Dean said. "Gimme a whiskey."

The man silently obliged, passing Dean a glass with a shot. He drank it in one.

"Keep 'em coming." He grunted.

Dean had only been there about an hour and a half. By this time he was slumped on the bar, various whiskey glasses and beer bottles around him. He was playing with the one immediately in front of him, peeling slightly at the paper label. He then put the bottle to his lips, taking a sip.

A damn fine way to spend an evening, Dean surmised. It was artistic, poignant, yadda yadda; people drank alone in bars. The best type of people.

The bar hadn't got any busier. Some had come in and out. No-one really stayed that long, no-one really talked – they were there to be alone, and they respected that of each other.

So Dean didn't look around when the door opened again. Why should he? It wouldn't be anything to do with him.

He didn't even look up when someone sat down next to him. Sure, it was an odd choice, there were four other stools to choose from, two of which weren't right next to him. That was bad bathroom etiquette. But he didn't bother looking up.

Not until...

"Not gonna say hello, Dean?"

A woman's voice greeted him, and he blearily looked up. He groaned and automatically reached behind him, grabbing for his gun. She grabbed his arm, her sober strength a little overpowering against his swaying drunkness.

"No guns, darling."

"Olivia." Dean said gruffly, trying to focus on at least one of her. "Not hiding in the back room, this time?"

She looked to the bartender. She frowned slightly, taking in the thick moustache on his upper lip, his weathered skin. "He's not my type. Besides, you got here first this time."

"Still; why aren't you hiding?"

"Me hiding?" She laughed. "You're the one who moved towns."

"Seemed responsible." Dean slurred, taking another sip of the beer. "Sammie's decision. I'm all up for ganking you."

"'Ganking' me?" She winked. "Sounds kinky. Nah; didn't Cassie tell you about our little chat earlier?"

"He did." Dean nodded, brushing past her innuendo. "That meant to change my opinion?"

"Up to you, love." She sighed as she waved to the bartender. "Vodka, please." She smiled.

"You're trying to torture him." Dean stated.

"Him?" Olivia blinked. "I only ordered a drink! Hardly a difficult order."

Dean glared at her.

"Oh, Cassie? Yeah, a bit. Does that matter?"

"I doesn't really make me like you, no."

"Why do you care? You hate the guy." She shrugged, looking at the hunter. She paused when she saw his face, though, and broke into a wide, triumphant smile. "Oh! You're beginning to get the warm fuzzies all over again! Mozeltov!"

"There are no warm fuzzies." Dean corrected her. "But you are trying to screw with a guys mind, and I'm not good with that."

"Oh, it's not like you've not handed out a few threats in your time." She scoffed, taking the drink in front of her. "Thank you, dear. We both know that, if you were in my shoes, you'd be out there, guns blazing."

"You're playing games." He pointed at her with his bottle before taking another sip.

"And you don't?" She laughed. "When it was lovely old Yellow Eyes, you weren't going to hold any tricks. You did everything, and you killed him."

Dean sighed. "Olivia..."

"Please," She stopped him. "Livvie."

"Livvie?"

"No-one but your boyfriend calls me that. I can't be bothered to correct the idiot."

Dean glared again. "Livvie... That was a completely different situation."

"Do enlighten me."

"Yellow eyes was a demon, who's big bad mission plan was to turn my brother into the spawn of Satan."

"Oh, yeah? And how'd that work out for you?"

Dean's hand moved noticeably towards his gun again, but she stopped him.

"Sorry, uncalled for. I've got no beef with you." She tipped her drink to him before taking another sip. "But come on. Cassie killed my Dad-"

"-Which sucked." Dean chimed in.

"Indeed. And I can't just let that go."

"You're going to laugh at me if I tell you he's a changed man, aren't you?"

"I dunno. Try me." She looked at him with all seriousness. "Then he body jumps me, and I get to see my Dad getting killed. I get the memory pumped through me. I get the back story, context, the guy's bloody mental state while he does it, and you know what?" She took a drink, finishing it, and gesturing for another. "I still want him dead."

"Not just dead, you want him to suffer."

"That too. Completely understandable, if I do say so myself." She smirked.

"And you see why I have to stop you." Dean took a sip.

"Naturally. The aforementioned warm fuzzies."

"Not freaking warm fuzzies!" He cried.

"Then what?"

"I don't know!" He slammed down his drink, spilling it across the counter. "All I know is that for some crazed reason, I have to look after the damned idiot. It's my job. It's always my job."

"Diddums." She cooed.

"Bite me." He growled.

"Is that an invitation." She asked softly, turning in her chair to look at him, tilting her head coyly and looking at his neck. She gnashed her teeth.

Dean looked taken aback, clearly confused at her motives. "Last time I checked, it's your enemy's enemy you get friendly with, not your own."

"Oh, we're enemies now?" She giggled. "How exciting."

"Well, I figure at some point, I'm going to have to stop you."

"Oh, that's not just yet." She sidled closer. "We've got time."

Dean knew it wasn't a great idea to flirt with her. Not at all. But the alcohol fuelled haze was putting a definite dampener on his better judgement.

"How much time?" He asked, leaning in.

"Oh, that would be telling." She smiled. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for your boyfriend, now, would I?"

He growled. "I am not gay." He told her, a second before his drunken lips met hers.


	23. Chapter 23

Cas walked in through the motel door, nodding to Sam as he sat down on one of the beds.

"Everything go okay?" Sam asked.

"We burnt the remains." Cas told her. "The ghost will no longer be an issue."

"Good to know." Sam closed his laptop. "And Dean?"

"Dean has gone in search of alcohol." He dryly informed him.

"Of course." Sam sighed. "I don't know why I expected anything else?"

Cas looked at him with curiosity. "Dean does this a lot?"

"Every night."

"I was lead to believe that it was a comforting pastime, despite the painful after-effects."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, well. It can be fun, it's great to go out for a drink but... When you do it every night... you've got a problem."

"It is addictive?"

"Can be, very." Sam sighed. "Dean's using it to forget everything that's happening. He thinks that if he walks round blind drunk, it'll be easier."

"He told you that?"

"Course not. But I'm his brother; I know."

Cas contemplated. "In my experience, the consumption of alcohol did not improve the situation."

"It makes you care less about it. Not necessarily a good thing."

"And if it helps stop your brothers pain?"

Sam paused, noticing the care in the angel's eyes. He really cared about Dean.

"It would've done it by now if that was the cure." Sam sighed again. "I hoped that when you came back... he just seemed... different, this morning. I guess it's not enough."

"You thought my presence would affect him positively?" Cas tilted his head in thought.

"We thought you were dead. Dean took it hard, though he wouldn't let on." Sam shrugged. "And now you're back; I thought it would've been good for him, but he's just gotten worse."

Cas's face fell. "Do you think I should leave?"

"No." Sam said firmly. "You heard him last night. You left, and it hurt. Now you're back, and he has to deal. And he will eventually. Something's going to finally hit him, and he's going to have to face the fact that he can't go on like this."

Cas wondered at his words, playing the weight of them in his mind. Sam had said that just by being here he was making Dean worse, but somehow this was good? He considered that, perhaps, it would be best to leave, to stop imposing himself on the boys, on Dean; that perhaps the healing process for them would be far easier without him around. They were not the friends that they once had been for a very long time, and though the hunter meant more than heaven to him, he recognised that this feeling may not be returned.

But, despite Sam's past, despite their fallings out and his flaws in judgement, Cas trusted the younger Winchester. Sam knew his brother, and if Sam said it was good for Cas to be around, Cas was going to stay around.

"Very well." The angel said.

"So how did today go?" Sam asked. "Dean wasn't a complete dick, was he?"

Cas frowned. "How would you define 'complete dick'?"

Sam shrugged.

"Dean was civil." Cas told him, then put some more thought into his answer. "He did not seem as... displeased to have me around as before."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"I'm no expert." Cas reminded him. "But... Dean certainly did seem happier."

"What makes you say that?"

"In the car, returning to the motel, he laughed."

Sam blinked. "He laughed?"

"Yes. For several moments. He stopped the car."

"Okay... what made him laugh?"

"I did." Cas said softly, hints of confusion, and just a bit of pride in his voice. "Though I do not understand the humour."

"What did you do?"

"I injured myself."

"How?"

"Dean called it a paper cut. It was most uncomfortable."

To Cas's mild surprise, Sam cracked a smile. "You got a paper cut?"

"Yes."

"But, you're an angel? Angels don't get paper cuts?"

"As I told Dean, apparently I do." Cas huffed as Sam chuckled.

"Well, look at that." Sam smiled. "You are doing Dean some good, after all."

A half hour passed. Sam had gone back to the computer, Cas was still sitting on the bed.

To start with he had simply sat on the bed, relatively content with his thoughts. He thought about Dean, about whether that brief moment of elation earlier had meant anything. He thought about his impending humanity, and whether he'd enjoy it or not. He thought briefly whether there were any more of those magazines around.

However, the longer he sat there, the more confused he got. Not by any of these previous thoughts, interestingly; instead he was far more confused by a strange, encroaching invasion. His head began to feel heavy, like it weighed too much for his spine to hold up. That was somewhat disconcerting.

His brain began to feel fuzzy, next. His thoughts were difficult to track.

His eyes too. They felt dry, and the lids felt thick and heavy. And the light felt too bright.

His chin drooped, resting on his chest, and his thoughts turned sluggish, and stopped.

Sam didn't notice to start with. He was on the computer, absorbed in Nephillim Lore, but after a while looked up, down, and up again.

For a second he was confused by what he saw. Cas appeared to be looking at his crotch, and Sam feared an awkward situation might occur. But then he realised he wasn't moving, except for the slow, rhythmic, up and down motion of his shoulders as he breathed.

Cas was asleep.

Sam frowned, unsure of what to do. If it was anyone else, anyone human, he would let them sleep. But Cas? Angels don't sleep.

He went over to the bed, and gently shook his shoulder. Within seconds the angel blearily opened his eyes, blinked hard, and opened them wide. He was wide awake again.

"Cas?" Sam asked. "Were you asleep?"

Cas wiped his hands over his eyes. "I don't know. I am unfamiliar with the feeling."

"Angels don't sleep." Sam pointed out. He sat down on the bed, watching as Cas shuffled on the bed. "What's going on?"

"I don't know what you're referring to." Cas said a little too quickly.

"And they don't get paper cuts either." He told him. He shook his head slightly, pleading. "Come on, Cas; just tell me."

Cas was getting more well versed in subtext. He knew that while Sam didn't say it, the words this time hung on the end of the sentence.

He considered his reasons from earlier, the ones that had made him not tell Dean. He hadn't told the elder Winchester out of fear – he didn't want to disappoint him, he didn't want to see that look on his face again, and he didn't want the hunter to make this feel... well, he didn't even know how he felt about it, but for some reason he knew Dean wouldn't make him feel any better about it.

But Sam? Sam was different. Sam wasn't his closest friend, Sam wasn't the brother that Cas had given his life up for, who he had given up everything for.

But for some reason, right now, Sam was the one who was there for him. Sam was his friend, and Sam would, if not understand, would at least be the right person to listen.

"My grace is falling." Cas told him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am becoming human." He clarified gruffly. "I have a limited supply left, and as soon as that has gone, I will have nothing left. Permanently."

"You're... you're human?"

"Not yet. But I will be."

"How long have you known?" Sam asked quietly.

"Hours." Cas told him simply. "Zedkiel visited me this morning."

"Zedkiel?"

"One of my sisters, known for her forgiveness. I expect she was chosen for the job as a sign of loyalty to whichever new leader heaven has."

"You didn't ask?"

"She did not go into detail; she merely made it clear I was no longer welcome there."

"And was this before or after Olivia?"

"Before. She overheard our conversation; it spurred her decision change. She said she would find it more entertaining to watch me fall before she kills me."

"No wonder Dean was pissed."

"Dean does not know."

Sam blinked, surprised. "You're telling me? Not Dean?"

"I... I did not feel that I could tell Dean this. I expected he would react unfavourably."

Sam paused, watching the angel. His face was stony, as ever, but he noticed the dewy shine in his eyes. The angel was hurting. He should've been able to turn to Dean... but Sam saw that right now, he couldn't.

"We'll take care of you." Sam reassured him. "But you need to tell Dean. Trust me, it'll be ten times worse if he finds out on his own."

"You believe that?" Cas asked.

"Yeah!" Sam told him. "One of things last year that..." He trailed off, rephrasing. "You kept stuff from him, and that hurt. If you want a way to earn back his trust, this is a start."

Cas didn't say anything. He looked down at his hands, at Jimmy's hands. Looking at his right hand he traced it gently with the other, remembering its journey. He had raised Dean from hell with that hand, and he had opened purgatory with it too. But this hand was soon to be little more than human, just another unremarkable body in a sea of them.

He still didn't know how he felt about that. But he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to get through it without Dean


	24. Chapter 24

He growled. "I am not gay." He told her, a second before his drunken lips met hers. Warm lips slid over each other, breath thick with alcohol mingling together as Dean's hand tangled into her tangled hair. When he pulled away, a self satisfied smirk on his face he saw the pink of her tongue dart out to stroke her flushed lips.

"Hmmmm" She hummed, sharp brown eyes opening to meet his. "Just how Cassie imagined."

Dean frowned. "Shut up." He muttered angrily, leaning back into her lips, his hands now moving down to her waist, tugging her forward and off of the stool. She giggled as she landed on the floor, falling into his chest, her hands catching on his shirt and clinging on.

She stroked her hands round, dancing across the skin that lay beneath the shirt, lips never parting. Then, suddenly, her hand moved down, playing with the thicker denim there, and squeezing gently.

Dean broke the kiss, inhaling sharply.

"What do you think?" Livvie asked. "Should we blow this place?" Her eyes glittered wickedly, and Dean didn't hesitate. He was now pretty much exclusively thinking with his downstairs brain. Turning to the bartender, he threw down enough money to cover both his and Livvie's drinks, before standing up, and followed her out of the door, arm around her waist, and her hands clutching tight to his shirt, dragging him out.

They paused at various points along the way. The first was directly outside of the bar, Livvie pressed up against the brick wall, Dean kissing her hard, hands all exploratory and unapologetic.

"Where to?" He gruffly asked.

"There's the motel." She whispered. "Though I doubt your sidekicks would appreciate me being there."

She licked down his neck, alternating between soft kisses and hard nips.

"You not got anywhere?" He asked, voice gruff.

"I commandeered a car." She chuckled.

"Another one?"

She looked up, large, brown, doe eyes set to stun. "A girl's gotta get around!" She told him, innocently. "So I have to steal a couple of cars; you got yours back. I figured you owed me anyway."

"What? How?"

"You took me half way across America without my consent. And you left all my stuff behind." She pouted. "I really liked that conditioner."

"I had other things on my mind than products!" He pointed out, but was quickly cut off by her lips on his again.

They eventually got to her car. It had only been parked down the street, but a mere matter of metres took a long time to travel; at least by their method of travelling, anyway.

Dean admired her choice in car. Blood red and sleek, clearly expensive, it was hardly the most professional car to steal. But Olivia didn't seem to care about that sort of thing. If she wanted to steal a sports car, apparently she would.

She opened the door behind her as Dean pressed her against the car, the cool metal pressing hard against her back. He ran his hands down her sides, plucking at the material, searching for warm skin beneath. Scooping his hands down beneath the fabric he found skin and scratched gently up her waist, making her shiver. Nuzzling into his neck, she chuckled.

"Nice moves, Cowboy;" She joked. "Where'd you pick them up?"

He pulled away from her, looking her in the eye. "You just don't stop talking, do you?"

"Then get better at distracting me!" She scolded, pulling him back in for a kiss while she reached behind her, opening the car door. Pulling him in with her, they landed on the backseats, Dean narrowly missing hitting his head on the door frame as they toppled in. He landed on top of her, practically straddling the girl, and she shifted seductively underneath him.

"Close the door." She told him bossily. "You're letting outside into my pretty car."

He reached round and closed the door behind him, before turning back to admire the view. Livvie was laying back onto the car seats, looking up at him, a wicked grin on her face. Her blonde hair was splayed back across the seat, and her brown eyes twinkled in the dull light. Her top was hitched up, skin showing up to where her ribs began, and the fabric was pulled taut across her chest.

"You just gonna stare?" She mocked. "I know you copped a feel while Cassie was sleeping."

He huffed. "It would really help if you didn't remind me that Cas was here first, okay?"

"It would really help if you actually did something." She bit back. Sitting up, she kissed the hunter and wrapped her arms round his neck, pulling him down on top of her.

Teasing the fabric up, the shirt reached her bra, and he stroked the silky material there, squeezing gently and chuckling at her slight gasp. In retaliation, she reached down, groping to his crotch, anticipating the hardness she was to find there. Instead, she was somewhat disappointed.

"Having some trouble?" She asked, glancing down. He distracted her again with a kiss, forcing the image of Cas that kept appearing in mind out, trying to concentrate on the girl underneath him. The girl, with girl parts.

Frustrated, he tugged harder on her top, disentangling lips for a minute so that he could tug it off of her. He figured the sight of more flesh would help the current situation, and banish all errant thoughts from his mind.

Moving kisses from her lips, he began down her jaw and her neck, pausing to nibble there, sucking gently, leaving tiny bruises.

"Atta, boy." She giggled, and he growled again, indignant at her patronising tone. He kissed further down, reaching her collar bone and licked along it, causing her to giggle again. Going further, he began to dip into cleavage, into the sainted area that men seemed to be so fascinated by.

"Do you wish Cas was a woman?" Livvie asked suddenly, and Dean looked up, distracted from his ministrations.

"What?" He asked, annoyed.

"I've had action replay." She pondered. "If Cas was in a body with breasts, or if you just got over this macho-heterosexuality thing, would you tap that?"

Dean sat up, extreme frustration playing across his face, and just a hint of anger. "Can you stop talking about him? Funny enough, I don't find dicks work well as pillow talk!"

"Can't blame a girl for being curious." She winked. "I thought this was all about proving you weren't gay, anyway."

"Quit talking about guys and I'll be able to prove it just fine." He told her gruffly. "You gonna shut up now?"

"Make me." She winked. He bent down to kiss her, and for several minutes their lips moved in unison, hot breath and sweat steaming up the car. His hands continued roaming across her body, and hers explored his, soon finding her way back down to his crotch again. Despite not finding any improvement in the previous situation, she worked at it, sliding her hand inside the rough denim and palming what she found down there.

But after several minutes...

"Seriously?" She panted. "I haven't mentioned the angel in ages!"

He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily and frowning. "How am I meant to even get started if you keep talking about him?"

"Jeez!" She sat up, leaning against the door. "After the way you were looking at me in that diner, I thought that after all that, at least I was gonna get laid! Turns out, you were just perving on the man inside my skin."

"Hey!" He cried indignantly. "That is bull."

"Oh really?" She retorted. "I saw you staring at my chest. Couldn't get enough of it. Yet, when it's no longer Cassie's tits, you don't want it!"

"Maybe if you would shut up for long enough for me to-"

"Oh give it a rest." She huffed. "It's a no-go. Go home and jerk off your fallen angel."

"See? How the hell am I meant to get it up if you're saying stuff like that?"

She smiled patronisingly. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's been a long, hard day. Your boyfriend's getting the boot from heaven and you've got to put up with his sorry arse being around." She shrugged. "Until I kill him, of course."

"Ha ha." He dryly retorted. "And for the last freaking time, he's not my-" Dean paused, replaying her words. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when two boys go steady-"

"Not that part." He interrupted. "The 'boot from heaven'."

"His visit from his little sister?" She reminded him, frowning slightly when Dean looked blank. "He didn't bother to mention that bit?"

"What happened?" Dean demanded. He suddenly looked so serious that Livvie almost felt afraid. Almost. Instead, she laughed.

"Heaven's cut him off. The wooden puppet's going to become a real boy!" She grinned.

Dean froze for a second, the words hitting him. He tried to comprehend them, tried to understand. But all that came was anger, anger and more anger. Cas had lied, Cas had kept things from him, again.

He moved backwards, scrabbling for the door handle and quickly opened it. Cold air flooded the car, and Livvie shuddered.

"Get out of here." Dean growled as he jumped out of the car, and she raised an eyebrow.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special." She said, rolling her eyes. Pulling her top back on, she raised an eyebrow. "Don't you wanna try again?"

He didn't say anything, choosing instead to slap the red metal hard with his hand.

She grinned at him, amused. "Whatever." She laughed. "Be seeing you, love."

Dean slammed the door, and within a few seconds, the car drove off, leaving Dean alone in the street, breathing heavily, rage and alcohol fuelling down his veins.

"CAS!" He yelled at the sky, voice roaring in the quiet night. "GET YOUR ASS HERE, RIGHT NOW!"


	25. Chapter 25

Cas had been sitting quietly in the room for a while now. Sam had gone for a shower, leaving the angel to occupy himself.

He'd been sitting at the computer for several moments, trying to understand the machine. It was somewhat baffling, and he prodded at buttons experimentally, confused as to how Sam seemed to navigate it so easily.

Somehow, Cas bought up some form of logic puzzle onto the screen. It called itself minesweeper, and after several failed attempts, he quickly worked out the technique to solve it, though was still confused as to why it would be there. Surely, with enough violence and action in the boys lives, they wouldn't play games that seemed to threaten them with explosions.

He decided that this probably wasn't all there was to the computer, though couldn't even begin to work out how to find out what else it did.

Pressing more buttons experimentally, he quickly learnt that pressing the separate, large button was not a good idea. However, pressing it again made the screen turn back on, so no damage appeared to have been done.

He seemed to have been making some progress on the computer – he had managed to call some form of menu screen up – before he heard Dean's call.

"CAS! GET YOUR ASS HERE, RIGHT NOW!"

Dean's voice was angry. Really, really angry. Cas froze at his tone, fear jolting through him.

He stood up, computer forgotten, trying to decide what to do. His instinct was telling him to go straight to the hunter, but he thought it through.

He had, in the past, not gone straight to Dean the instant he had called. No matter how much it had pained him to ignore his friend; he had done so in the past.

And it was really a bad idea to teleport anywhere unnecessarily right now. It had winded him earlier, and any sapping at the remaining vestiges of his grace should not be undertaken lightly.

But Dean was still calling. Dean was yelling for him, was so angry, was so... desperate. For the first time since he had returned, Dean was asking for him, and how could Cas deny him that?

Not bothering to leave a note for Sam, Cas vanished, landing just behind the hunter.

He had been ready for the pain this time, but found himself in more pain than the time before, cold clenching round his heart and forcing him to double over in pain. He wondered if this was what death felt like.

"Dean." He croaked, and the hunter turned round, almost unbalanced under the influence of alcohol. Cas could see the red in his cheeks from the liquor, and wondered briefly if this was to be a repeat of the night before.

The hunter hesitated briefly, looking at the doubled over angel, but as he quickly straightened up, his face betraying no more pain, he quickly went back to his anger.

"I am done with you." Dean angrily yelled. "I'm done. I don't care any more."

"You summoned me here to tell me you don't care?" Cas asked, confused. Even to him, he could see the contradictory actions.

"Anything you wanna tell me?" Dean slurred, alcohol still blurring his words.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked a little too quickly, suddenly nervous. Unsure about human mannerisms and tells, he couldn't tell if Dean knew, or if Dean was merely asking a question.

"I mean that I heard something from a little birdy." Dean told him, taking a step forward. "Something about you."

Cas froze, almost certain now of what he had feared.

It was like Sam had said; Dean's reaction would be all the worse if he found out on his own. Why hadn't he told him?

"Dean..."

"You're human now?" Dean yelled suddenly, and Cas flinched. The hunter looked so damn angry, his face so tight and his body so tensed that Cas was sure that he was going to get punched at any time. "What the hell, Cas? You didn't think to mention that?"

"I didn't think-"

"Yeah, you sure as hell didn't think!" Dean shouted. "When crap like this happens, you tell us!"

"I'm sorry-"

"I am so sick of hearing you say that, you know?" Dean snapped, turning away.

"What would you rather I said?" Cas asked, equally snappily.

"If you could just stop doing things you need to apologise for, that'd be a plus." He told him sarcastically.

"Curious." Cas commented, and Dean raised an eyebrow. "I am expected to apologise for something that is out of my control? Something that directly affects myself, not you?"

Dean gaped, surprised by Cas's retort. He'd said so little since he'd been back, and what he had said had been meek and apologetic. But apparently, he'd snapped.

"It does affect me, Cas!" Dean told him, angry. "I have to put up with you moping around here!"

"I'm sorry that I'm such an inconvenience to you!" Cas spat.

"Yeah, you are!" Dean yelled. "You used to be my friend, you used to be someone I trusted." He sighed. "But now you're just someone who keeps things from me."

"I did not mean to keep things from you, Dean." He told him.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Dean demanded. "Why do you keep hiding things from me?"

"You really cannot conceive why?" Cas spat. "How did you even come across this information?"

Dean's face twisted at the question, suddenly realising the tight spot he was in. How could he truthfully say how he found out?

"Livvie... Olivia told me." Dean said simply.

"You encountered Olivia?" Worry mingled with the anger in Cas's face. "She did not hide this time?"

"No, she was an open book." Dean sarcastically sniped. "She doesn't seem to have a problem about telling people things."

Cas didn't say anything for a minute, just staring at the hunter. He could see the anger in his face, the hurt. The angel didn't want to fight – he had given everything for this man, and if he needed to give a little bit more, so be it.

"I am sorry that I have fallen." He told him. "And I am sorry that I didn't tell you."

"You know what?" Dean huffed. "I don't want to hear it. I can't hear this any more!" He yelled at the angel, eyes hard and angry. "I'm sick of you being around!"

"You called me here."

"And now I'm telling you to go." He shouted. "Just go! We don't want you! Go find some other idiots to follow around!"

"Dean?"

"Fuck off!" Dean yelled, storming towards him, startling the angel with a solid shove to the shoulder, followed by another to his chest. "Leave me alone!"

And with that, the angel was gone. Dean stumbled forwards, landing on hands and knees on the grimy floor, panting heavily, looking around for Cas. But he wasn't there. Cas had done everything Dean had ever asked of him, and apparently he hadn't stopped.

Not too far away, a man in a worn out suit landed ungracefully in a field. He had landed on his feet, but his knees gave way beneath him and he soon found himself kneeling in muddy grass, hands on the ground for support. He was breathing heavily, air seemingly in short supply as his lungs panicked under the strain that was running through his whole body.

Doubling over in pain, not caring about the mud, he collapsed sideways, curling into a foetal position. His breathing was even heavier now, it seemed to be coming out in coughs and chokes and while did seem to be related to the screaming pain across his body, it felt like it was coming from another type of pain, one stemming straight from the shoves and words from the hunter across town.

It took Cas a minute to realise that his face was wet, warm water coming from his eyes uncontrollably.

The angel had never cried before.


	26. Chapter 26

The next morning started much like any other for Dean. He woke up with a pounding headache, with near debilitating nausea, and emotions that he didn't want to think about churning in his stomach. He groaned and rolled over, wincing at the sunlight creeping in through the curtains.

"Morning." Sam called, a little too loudly from the other side of the room.

"Bite me." Dean grumbled, blearily opening his eyes.

"Your night was that good then?" Sam joked, and Dean winced, trying to remember what had happened.

He remembered drinking, a lot. Vodka and whiskey and beer and who knows what else he threw down his gullet. Pushing through the haze he remembered having some company, someone blonde and attractive. He smiled at the memory, knowing she had been hot, but paused when her face swam into his memory.

"Oh, god." He said, sitting up.

"What?" Sam asked. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." Dean said quickly. "Nothing at all." Not strictly true, of course, said a nagging sense of guilt. He had done something. "How'd I even get back?"

"You crashed in, completely drunk at about one. I think you got kicked out again."

"I don't even remember." Dean shook his head. "Musta been good, then."

Sam frowned, and shifted uncomfortably where he was standing. "Dude, do we need to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" Dean asked, disinterested. He stumbled up and walked doggedly to the tap, getting a glass of water.

"About you drinking? Every night? All the damn time?" Sam shrugged. "When was the last time you woke up not hungover?"

"I don't have a problem, Sam." Dean told him stubbornly. "I'm fine. It's a hobby."

"A hobby?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "You need it to get through the day!"

"Yeah, Sam; maybe I do." Dean yelled angrily. "But in case you haven't noticed, our days aren't ordinary! With the amount of crap we have to deal with, I think it's acceptable that I like a drink at the end of the day."

"No; you like to completely forget the day at the end of it. Every day."

"Yeah, so?" Dean spat. "Our days are the type of days that would make most people run, screaming, for the hills. Do you blame me for wanting to get out of that?"

Sam blinked. "Dean..."

"Everything that happens to us is shit, Sammie." Dean sighed. "The people we get close to die; we keep dying, but we just can't get out of it. When do we get to be done?" Dean downed his glass of water, and poured another. "So for God's sake... let me drink."

Sam stayed silent for a few seconds, folding his arms. He knew nothing he could say right now could change Dean's opinion – his brother was endlessly stubborn, and right now, stuck in a rut. He didn't know what to do to get him out of it, other than watch and wait.

It was at times like this that he really missed Bobby.

"Fine." Sam finally said, sighing. "Whatever. Where's Cas?"

Dean blinked. "Weren't you watching him?"

"He just went out last night, vanished." Sam told him. "When you got in you were bitching about him, saying you'd seen him."

"Huh?" Dean winced, trying to remember, swimming again through the foggy memories.

"It's not safe for him out there." Sam said.

Dean's memories were clicking in to place, slowly. "He's human. Or will be. I remember."

"He told you?" Sam asked, and Dean looked round in annoyed surprise.

"No, I found out from someone else." Dean told him, the anger underlying his tone still there from last night. "But he seems to have told you. Isn't that swell?"

"He fell asleep, I had to ask." Sam told him. "He didn't know how to tell you. You didn't give him a hard time about it, did you?"

"Depends on what you think a hard time is." Dean stonily replied. "He deserved it."

"Is that what you think?" Sam shook his head.

"Yeah, that's what I think!" Dean cried. "After everything he's done!"

"Really? After everything?" Sam replied. "After dragging both our asses out of hell? Turning his back on his entire family, for you? Stopping the apocalypse? Dying? And now he's falling? Again!" Sam took a step towards his brother, too close, crowding him in anger. "What's really your problem, Dean? Is it that he made one mistake? Or is it that he didn't do what you wanted, just once?"

"You'd better shut the hell up, Sam."

"Or what, Dean? You gonna hit me? Is that gonna make you feel better?"

"Yeah, maybe." Dean growled back, his fingers twitching.

"Go ahead." Sam taunted. "Be the big man. You be Dad."

Dean's fist moved fast, aiming straight for his brother's jaw, but Sam was too fast. Swatting away the fist with his superior strength, he pushed Dean back against the counter, head slamming back against a cabinet as Sam caught him in a choke hold.

"Let go of me." Dean coughed out.

"Dad wouldn't let himself get close to people, either." Sam told him. "Dad would rather push me away than talk to me, and you are doing the exact same thing!" He pushed a little harder with his arm against Dean's throat, slightly choking him. "Don't you dare do that to Cas."

He pulled away, taking a few steps back, and Dean coughed, getting air back into his lungs. He glared at his brother, pride wounded at being so easily overpowered, which Sam ignored.

"Call him, now." Sam told him, sitting down. "Before he decides he's finally had enough of you."

Dean sighed, considering a witty retort, but quickly decided that with his head still thumping it was probably best not to rile up his brother any more.

"Fine." He huffed, standing slightly straighter, as if that had any influence over whether Cas would come when called.

"Cas." He spoke out loud. "Could you come here, please?"

The boys waited for him to appear. And they kept waiting.

Cas wasn't coming.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean waited impatiently, eyes darting, used to Cas's habit of appearing just behind him, just out of sight. Between him and Sam, they had pretty much the entire room in sight-line, but no angel appeared.

"Cas?" Dean tried again, voice unwittingly a little more pleading, trying to ignore the words that Sam had spoken that were ringing through his head. "Please, Cas?"

A few more seconds of silence passed.

"Before he decides he's finally had enough of you"

Sam cleared his throat. "Dean?"

"What?"

"He's not coming..."

"Really? You think I hadn't noticed that?" Dean retorted. He ran his hand through his hair, looking around in the vain hope that the angel may have appeared without him noticing. "He does that. He doesn't always come when we call."

"Cas?" Sam tried, knowing that his calls were usually ignored, but tried nonetheless. No angel appeared.

"Why isn't he coming?" Dean asked.

"Maybe he can't?" Sam suggested. "His mojo is draining, and he's already used some being at your damn beck and call."

"Crap." Dean said, picking up a bag and scrawling a note to the angel, telling him to call if he returned.

"Or Olivia might've got him."

"She doesn't." Dean told him, walking out of the door, followed by Sam.

"What makes you so sure?" Sam asked his brother as they got in the car. "We need to consider it."

"Because she's waiting until he's human."

"He told you that?"

"She did." Dean told him, and Sam looked at him.

"When did you see her?"

"Last night." Dean said a little too quickly as they drove off.

"She was at the bar?" Sam asked, accusation in his voice, knowing that more had happened that Dean wasn't letting on. Sam knew his brother well. "What did you do, Dean?"

"Nothing."

"Dean." Sam warned, and Dean glanced sideways.

"I'm driving."

"What the hell did you do?"

"Nothing, really..." Dean avoided, but found himself getting nervous under his brothers glare, and suddenly dying for a drink. He reached into his pocket, bringing out Bobby's flask and taking a swig.

"You slept with her, didn't you?" Sam asked, sighing. "You stupid-"

"No!"

"Dean!"

"I didn't get that far." Dean begrudgingly told him, ignoring his brother's huff. "I was drunk and it seemed like a good idea at the time." He looked to his brother, attempting a smile. "Plus, have you seen her? That girl is-"

"I really can't believe you." Sam sighed, looking out the window. "This is the girl that is trying to kill our friend and you slept with her! No wonder the guy didn't come when you called."

"I didn't go through with it!" Dean protested. "I couldn't-"

"Couldn't what?"

"I'd had a lot to drink." Dean huffed, looking out of the windows at the pavement as he drove.

"You-?"

"And she kept talking about Cas..."

"You couldn't get it up?" Sam finished for him, anger leaving his face ever so slightly as he began to smirk. "You?"

"I had a rough day-"

"Was it long and hard?" Sam smirked.

"Shut it." Dean said. He pulled the car onto the pavement, getting out and walking towards the bar that he had been in the night before. Sam rolled his eyes and moved to get out too, but Dean soon returned. "He's not there."

"Did you expect him to be?" Sam sighed.

"I figured it was worth a try." Dean got back into the car, starting it instantly, barely giving Sam a chance to get back in the seat. He pulled the car out and started driving again, faster than before. "Why didn't we give him a phone?"

"So what happened after... Olivia." Sam asked, looking at Dean.

The elder hunter clenched his jaw, not wanting to say, but recognizing he probably should. "I called Cas."

"Why?"

"Because I was pissed. Livvie had just-"

"Wait, Livvie?" Sam repeated, looking at his brother incredulously.

Dean glared. "Shut it."

"You have pet names for each other now?"

"No, it's just what she's called." Dean told him. "She told me about Cas. She knew, I didn't; I was pissed."

"And that was a change to how you've been the rest of the time?"

"Yeah." Dean told him, ignoring his brother's sarcasm. "So I called him."

Sam sighed and shook his head.

"What?" Dean asked, barely looking at his brother as the car moved faster and faster.

"You're a selfish bastard, that's what." Sam told him.

"Hey-"

"No. You find out that he's got a finite amount of mojo and you call him over? You make him use it unnecessarily?"

"Yeah, I get it. I'm an asshole." Dean told him.

"Yeah, you are." Sam agreed. "And I bet you were real grateful to him."

"Not exactly." Dean winced, remembering his words. "I said what was on my mind."

Sam just shook his head, silent anger across his face. He was beyond words now.

Dean's voice turned quiet, his hands gripping tight onto the steering wheel. "I told him we didn't want him here. I told him to leave."

"And I bet you put that in the nicest possible manner."

"Not exactly." Dean told him.

"Guess we know now why he didn't come when you called."

Dean didn't say anything, instead pulling the car into a familiar looking car park.

"You think he's here?" Sam asked, looking out the window.

"Worth a try." Dean said, jumping out of the car instantly, quickly followed by Sam. He barely glanced around at the car park, heading straight for the footpath, heart thumping in his chest. He felt sure that Cas would be here, he was sure that as soon as he rounded the corner, as soon as he peered through that mesh fence he would see his friend in the worn out suit by the water. He would be there. He would be.

But he wasn't. No-one was by the water. It was deserted, looking for all the world like a normal lake. As if nothing had ever happened there.

"Damn it!" Dean yelled, frustrated, and Sam blinked. Dean was genuinely upset - he couldn't find Cas, he was searching frantically and for once, his care for the falling angel was showing.

"Dean..."

"Where else would he be?" Dean cried, thinking hard. "Where did he used to go?"

"He was your friend." Sam pointed out.

"Real helpful, Sammie." Dean huffed, pacing back and forth. "A church? Would he go to a church?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to be found." Sam suggested. Dean stopped, turning the full force of his frustration onto his brother.

"Shut up."

"Maybe he's finally had enough. You told him to leave, and he left." Sam told him gently, shrugging. "He might just be... done."

"I'm not!" Dean yelled, stepping close to his brother and yelling into his face. "I'm not done with him!"

Sam blinked. "Well, then tell him that." He said simply, and the older Winchester stepped back, returning to his frantic pacing.

"Cas?" He called again, looking around frantically. "I'm sorry, Cas. Just... get back here? Please?"

They waited as the seconds ticked by.

Dean's phone started ringing in his pocket. After looking confused, he fished it out and answered it.

"Cas?" He asked quickly, but his face fell instantly.

"Not quite, Dean." The voice on the other end of the line smugly purred.

"Livvie." He sighed. "Really not a good time. In fact, never is probably a good time."

"Shame, I really thought you might've been interested in what I had."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Thought you might want to say goodbye to your guardian angel while you've still got the chance." Livvie told him. "Didn't realise you cared so much about him. It's touching how you've been calling for him, it really is."

"You bitch." He hissed down the phone. "What happened to waiting until he's human?"

"Plans change, lover boy. Decided I'd kill him now instead."


	28. Chapter 28

Balthazar was a smart angel. He knew that to win in a fight, you leave the combat to the big guys and stay on the sidelines. He knew that if you have any doubt in the work you've been given, you don't express it, not in the tiniest way. He knew that the apocalypse was coming, so he stole heavens weapons and hid on Earth.

So when he found out he was going to a baby-daddy to a Nephilim, he used these smarts. He used his God-given talents of subterfuge and charm to hide his spawn and it's mother. No-one ever knew – he'd managed to do what others had not; he had hidden the fact that he'd spawned a super-powered mud-monkey from the big-wigs upstairs. To get found out would mean instant smiting for all involved, if they were lucky. Gabriel had only gotten away with it because he was one of Daddy's favourites.

He'd met the mother at a bar. Since God had stopped showing his face, it had become a lot easier to goof off while on duty. He'd spend a couple of years, or so, on duty, and every now and then take a night off. But this night off had included a very pretty human female, several gallons of liquor, and some nice conversation. She was very appealing to him, and to an angel that had seen a young world grow into a fully socialised and hugely dysfunctional planet, that was saying something.

Her name was Penny.

He would drop in on her every now and then. To him it didn't seem like he waited long between visits, but apparently a year and a half was too long to turn up on her doorstep uninvited. She had given him an ultimatum – be more reliable, or go away completely.

Funny how celestial beings with such power could be so easily overpowered by a simple human.

So he would come over more. And she would ask questions about him, about why one minute he would be there, and the next there would be only empty space where he had been standing; about that time she had accidentally sliced her hand open with a knife, but it had suddenly healed. He never answered.

It turned out that a simple hormone pill that Penny took prevented them from spawning. For a long time this worked. Then one time, after she had drunk too much at some social event or other, she vomited, expelling the pill from her system. This one time had been enough. A month later Penny told Balthazar she was pregnant.

Three months later Penny demanded an explanation. Why did she not get morning sickness? Why could she heal herself? Why would she randomly find herself in a place she hadn't been a minute before? And why, not always, but sometimes, did he look different? Inexplicably, totally, different; a winged beast, beautiful and horrifying to behold?

When he told her she didn't believe him. When he showed her, she fainted. When he explained what was growing inside of her, she vanished, finding herself in Vietnam. He, of course, followed her. He kept her safe. She came back, and five months later a small, baby girl was born. They named her Olivia.

It was at this time that Balthazar ran from heaven, faking his own death in battle. Commandeering a mansion in the heart of the English countryside, he lived with Penny and his daughter, teaching Livvie about her heritage, about the powers that she held.

He told her about his best friend, Castiel. He told her about the adventures that they had had together. He told her that of all the angels in heaven, he trusted him the most, and that if she ever needed something that her father was not around to give, Castiel could be the only one that might give her a chance.

Livvie grew up without peers. She was homeschooled. She learnt about the world from television, and would rarely leave her Father's estate. However, as one might have expected, she grew rebellious. She snuck out frequently, despite her Father's best efforts. And when she became more skilled in angelic subterfuge than he was, he revoked her powers. Not that that stopped her – she was far too human for that, and once she had tasted the outside world, she didn't want to go back.

One night Penny went out to look for her daughter. It was late, and Livvie was in some guy's house putting drugs into her bloodstream. The house was not in what one might perceive to be a savoury neighbourhood; crime rates were high, though much went unreported. Penny was dressed far too nicely for the area.

When Livvie came home her mother was not there.

It took Balthazar a few short moments to find his lover. He tried his best, but it was not God's will to restore her to life. Instead, Balthazar went on a smiting spree. Eighteen deaths were reported that night in that neighbourhood. Penny was not reported.

Despite her soul having left her body, Balthazar had picked up some human sentimentality during his time with her. After burying her body in the grounds of the estate, he moved himself and Livvie to America. He commandeered a mansion there too, and there they lived.

Balthazar paid little attention to Livvie anymore. She barely made any attempt to hide her comings and goings, and he let her do so. He turned into a cliché of a bachelor, attending orgies, crack dens and bars.

The one time he paid mind to Livvie was when Balthazar was discovered. He locked her in the basement, armed her with an angel blade, and settled a dispute upstairs. It was Castiel, the trusted friend that he had told her about – he didn't seem so trustworthy now. They almost killed one another. It seemed that both angels had turned native.

Satisfied that Castiel knew nothing of his daughter, Livvie was returned to her previous state of being ignored. Life moved on, but now she was aware – she kept an eye out for Castiel and the humans he was so fond of: The Winchesters. They seemed to have flitted in and out of the spotlight – the amount of times they had died whilst in police custody was somewhat baffling, but they still seemed to be alive and kicking. She tried to ask her Father about them, but this only served to revert him back to his disciplinarian self, telling her she must not interact with them, ever.

Then he began to change. She saw him turn into someone she had never met before, turning back into the Balthazar he had once been, millennia before. He started to work for good. He changed history. He became a spy. He worked for the forbidden Winchesters whilst he betrayed his only friend.

And then, one day her Father did not return. She waited days. Days turned into weeks, which in turn became months. He never returned.

Packing as many of her father's weapons as she could, and putting the rest into storage, she left. Life was not easy for her; without the safety of her family or a home, she learnt quickly how to survive on the streets, a skill that she never managed to properly hone whilst she had her safety nets. She dabbled with prostitution for money, but mostly could manage to get bar work, or hustle cards or pool to get cash.

She tracked the Winchesters like they hunted their monsters. Eventually she managed to catch up with them, slowly following them from town to town, gathering information. They would know what had happened to her Father, she was sure of it.

She had a lot of info on them. She knew their family history, had stolen supposedly destroyed police records and confidential psych papers, knew everything about them. Dean liked Pie, Sam had morals. But she didn't know the truth about her Father, not yet.

And then one day she woke up, and she wasn't herself anymore. A war was raging inside her own body; she had no control over her motor functions, over what she was doing, over anything. So she made life as uncomfortable as possible for the asshole in her body.

And she saw. By God, did she see. She saw heaven and hell, and all in between. She saw everything about the Winchesters. And she saw her Father. She saw how he died. And she saw who was responsible.

She saw everything.


	29. Chapter 29

Being possessed by an angel is no fun. The bored might daydream of it, the kinky may lust for it, some uber-religious nut jobs might love the idea of it; being so holy, so special to God, that they are chosen to be host to a celestial being, but if they ever actually had the chance... once you're in it, you'd rather be dead.

It's not just the fact that you're no longer in control of your body. That is annoying as hell – watching as someone else controls you, moves you, speaks with your voice out of your lips, kills people in front of your very eyes... that's horrific. But it's more than that... being pressed again, squashed infinitesimally small in your body against a being so huge, so magnificently massive is pure torture; the burning, blistering pain of it all as you're clung to both a black hole and a burning star... it's more than any human can deal with, but they just can't stop. It's no wonder the empty vessels are found, near dead, brain dead, discarded. They're not human anymore; they're a drooling shell.

But Castiel the angel was weak. He didn't start out as the strongest angel in the garrison, and despite being a high riser, he fell, and he fell hard. The being that forced its way into Livvie's body was not the bright, shining star that it had once been, it was a feeble firefly.

Merely hours after Castiel first jumped in, her body was hers once again. She was vacated and left panting in the mud, a wealth of new knowledge crammed into her head. And answers to that which she had been searching for.

She screamed, she shouted, she threatened. The angel that murdered her father in cold blood was standing in front of her, healthy, whole, consequence free of the sins he had committed, whilst her Father, her wonderful, loyal, Father, was killed and his vessel was left to rot.

But he was strong and she was weak. She couldn't do anything to hurt him; him or his little once-hit-twice-shy puppy dogs. Not until she was strong again; she could destroy him then.

She stole their car. It was easy enough; she had learnt some human tricks back in her rebellious, teenage phase. She stole their rusty piece of crap and drove it away fast, as fast as the little engine could take. She drove aimlessly, unsure of where to go, no idea of the way back. She was lost, she had nothing left but the clothes on her back and a stolen car... not to mention a ton of emotional baggage.

The road became blurry. She gripped tight onto the steering wheel, focusing on the tarmac in front of her, the trees that lined the street. But it became harder and harder. She wiped her cheek furiously with the back of her hand, but within seconds it was once again covered with tears.

She stopped the car, pulling over onto the grass verge. Gripping onto the steering wheel she leant over it, forehead resting heavily as tears streamed down her face, and racking, coughing sobs escaped her. She was alone. Her only, last shred of hope was gone; the man that her Father had trusted above all, the one that he would trust his daughters safety to, was the one who killed him.

She was all alone. She had nothing.

Nothing but revenge.

~

She drove into the nearest town, heading straight for the nearest bar. She'd managed to find a few dollars in change rattling around in the car, but she really struck lucky when she checked the book after she parked. Not more money, unfortunately, but the Winchesters hunting equipment. The trunk was packed full of the stuff, guns, rope, salt; everything. She grabbed a gun, a nice big bottle of holy oil, and an angel blade. Goldmine. Shoving them into a grimy bag she also found laying there, she then flicked through other bags at random, finding random bits and pieces, nothing too important; though when she found pages covered in Enochian sigils and writing, she grabbed them too - she was fairly fluent in the language, and there was a lot to read there; it may come in handy.

Feeling that she had raided all there was to raid in the car; she took the bag and slung it over her shoulder, slamming the trunk. She kicked the car for good measure, before sauntering into the bar, smiling at the name of the place - 'The Angel'.

She sat down on a bar stool, flashing her pearly whites at the bartender who obediently walked over.

"Vokda." She requested simply, and the guy opened his mouth to ask with what, before she flapped her hands at him. He poured it for her, and she knocked it back, before beckoning for more.

"Sure you don't want to mix that with anything?" He asked her, eyebrow raised, but she shook her head.

"Why sully the taste?" She shrugged. "What's your name?"

"Tom." He told her.

"Well, grand to meet you, Tommy." Livvie smiled wryly. "Keep the drinks coming."

"Hard day?" He asked, as he poured her another.

"You could say that." She downed her drink and looked at the boy. "Look, Tommy; you don't have to do the sympathetic ear thing to me. I don't care. I don't want it. I'd rather just drink in peace tonight." She looked up at him. "As delightful as you are, and, frankly, you are lovely on the eyes... I'd prefer my own company."

He shrugged nonchalantly, disappointed, but not offended. "Whatever you want. Another?"

"Yes, please." She agreed, ignoring the looks that she was getting from drinking so much straight alcohol so quickly. Even as a human, her metabolism far exceeded everyone else's.

A few drinks later, and the drinks were perhaps starting to kick in. Her vision was becoming slightly blurry at the edges, her head softening like cotton wool. Not by much though. It didn't dull her senses enough for her to not notice what was happening outside. She could see through the window, she could see Dean Winchester looking at the rusty car, peering through the windows.

Turning quickly to Tommy, she flashed her brightest smile. "Darling; if you bring me to the back room, I will definitely make it worth your while."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want company."

"Can't a girl change her mind?" She cocked her head, letting a few strands of hair fall coyly across her face as she leaned forward onto the bar a bit, exposing just enough cleavage to persuade the boy.

~

Hours later, Dean Winchester finally left the bar, and Livvie was free to leave the back room. Honestly, there was only so much a girl could do to keep herself occupied. She had bored quickly of the man's advances, and left in a hurry, as soon as she heard the car pull away. She walked fast, bag slung over shoulder, pondering what to do next.

She was tired. It had been a long day, and although she needed less sleep than regular humans, there was something very soothing about being able to pass out for a few hours. She craved that peace right then, that serenity, even it was only for a short amount of time. She wanted to forget. She wanted to stop.

Walking along the road, keeping an eye out for the shorter Winchester, she noticed a car parked only a few meters away. Shiny red and sleek, it was beautiful; not like the rustbucket earlier. Of course, it would be smart to go for another crappy car, but as she neared it she began to fall in love with that metal stallion - the smooth curves, the slightly darkened windows, the nicely shaped headlights, giving it a nice face.

Who cared about smart. She was taking the car.

She broke in easily, jimmying the window and bypassing the alarm. She started the engine swiftly and rolled down the window, letting the cool air pick at her hair as she picked up speed, rolling down the tarmac road with ease. Going like this for about ten minutes, she hit another town, and followed the roads until she hit the more upmarket side of it, the houses with the fancy gardens, the spacious grounds and the beds with soft sheets. She was going to treat herself.

She knew how to spot if a house was empty. She could see within a few minutes if the family was in, she could tell which houses had gone on holiday and which had stayed. Despite her Father's dislike of the way she chose to spend her teenage years, it sure was coming in handy right now. Street smarts; far more useful than anything ever found in a book.

She broke into number twelve, a house that was practically a mansion after the motels. Parking the car around the back so as not to arouse suspicion from any nosy neighbours, she let herself in quietly, using the same technique as she did to get into the car. Shutting off the alarm quickly, she headed straight for the fridge, plucking a beer and a chocolate bar out and slumping down into a sofa. It was plush and soft, and she almost felt like going to sleep right then and there - it was far comfier than what she had been sleeping on for months.

She turned on the TV and cracked open the beer. Curling her feet under her on the sofa, she channel surfed, watching old reruns of a TV show filled with beautiful people with petty problems. It was annoying, and it was soothing.

After a couple of episodes she turned it off and slowly climbed upstairs, crawling into the first bed she could find. It was a double bed, with soft, creamy sheets and beautifully decorated furnishings. She fell asleep almost instantly, and to anyone who would've walked in right then, she looked for all the world like a normal, human, little girl.

~

The peace she had longed for didn't come. Though, perhaps, what arrived was better.

When Castiel had jumped into her, she had sifted through his memories. She thought she had seen enough, all she had needed to. She hadn't been thorough enough; thankfully, the information she had needed stuck.

Her dreams plagued her from the instant she closed her eyes. She saw it, she saw the Enochian sigil, wet and red. She saw the actions she needed to take, and she saw herself. She saw the part of herself that was missing, and she knew where it was.

She woke up bolt upright, breathing heavily as she processed the information.

It seemed obvious now. Her Father had cruelly snatched away her grace, but he would not have put it so far out of her reach that she could not get it back if she truly needed it. He had protected her when he had needed to; when he believed his life to be in danger, he made arrangements.

And he gave her something. The night that Castiel found Balthazar, the night that she had been locked in the basement, he gave her a necklace. It was silver, shining, and in the curved shape of 'M', the Enochian symbol for love. It had been her mother's, he had told her.

In a fit of random rebelliousness and mild inebriation, she had removed it from the chain and put it on a charm anklet. It had sat there ever since.

Shimmying off her boot, she looked at the small piece of jewellery. It wasn't much to look at; she couldn't see anything more there than a simple piece of silver. But that was it. That was what she had been looking for.

~

She didn't have much time for the ritual. It had to be performed at sun-up, which was barely any time at all. But she had the ingredients.

First she drizzled a circle of holy oil on the floor. Then, with a box of matches held nearby, she summoned. She summoned the nearest angel possible. Anyone would do. She wasn't picky - they were all the same to her, all of them were dicks.

Though perhaps this was a wild generalisation.

The angel to land was that in the body of a small girl. She recognised her almost instantly - it was Zedkiel, Castiel's friend from earlier; the angel of forgiveness.

Unperturbed, she lit the circle the second the angel landed.

"Oh." The little girl looked around, holding her skirt so that it would not inadvertently catch alight. "Well, that's mean."

"Zedkiel." Livvie nodded to the little girl.

The angel smiled. "Hi." She looked around, peering at the flames. "Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter." She said. She stuck her fingers into the jar of oil and started to smear the grease across her skin, shivering as the cool air hit the damp.

"I'm sure it does." Zedkiel replied, watching Livvie. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"I'm finger painting." Livvie sniped. She didn't look at the angel, not relishing the job before her.

"I don't think you are." Was the retort. "You're no ordinary human."

"No, I'm not." Livvie sighed. Her fingers were now across her chest, tracing old patterns, words and symbols across herself, fingers working on instinct, on second hand knowledge.

"You're a Nephilim." Zedkiel said. "Though, without your grace."

"Bingo."

"And now you are taking it back."

Livvie, having now completed the patterns, knelt down and snatched the charm from her ankled, placing it on the table in front of you. "I have no other choice. You can't stop me."

"Did you hear me asking you to stop?" The angel said kindly. Livvie finally looked at her, confused by the passivity in the angels tone. "It is you who seems to be unhappy at the circumstance."

Livvie straightened up, furrowing her brow, taken aback. "Do you expect me to be looking forward to this? It's necessary, but it's not exactly how I'd like to be spending my Friday afternoon."

"I fear it's going to be far worse for me."

Livvie's face softened as she blinked furiously several times. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you." The angel said, and Livvie looked up again.

"So easily?" She scoffed. Picking up the angel blade from the table, she turned it in her hand.

"It's in my nature." The little girl smiled. "You have me rather trapped."

"Why aren't you fighting this?" Livvie asked. "You could over power me. I'm still just a human!"

"Oh, dear." The angel shrugged. "Because, what else is there to do?"

"Other than dying?"

"Angels are born to follow, yet now we have no leader."

"Heaven's not all it's cracked up to be, then?" Livvie sighed.

"Anarchy, my dear. It is such a shame we do not know what to do with our new found freedom." She smiled. "But enough about me. Tell me why I'm here."

"For the ritual."

"But why are you performing it?" She asked. She went to take a step forward, but remembered the flames. "What unhappy chain of events led us both here?"

"I'm not giving you my life story." Livvie snapped.

"I feel I have the right to know." Zedkiel sighed. "It seems only fair."

Livvie winced slightly, acknowledging her words. "My name is Olivia."

"And your parent?"

"Balthazar."

"Oh, I had no idea!" Zedkiel looked shocked. "Such a naughty boy."

"You know he's dead?"

"Of course." The angel bowed her head in sorrow. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Right." Livvie turned around. Facing the window, she could see the dim horizon growing steadily brighter, the sky turning a dull blue as the sun approached. She placed the silver blade in her hand and sliced it quickly, barely wincing. There was no point in crying over a flesh wound - it would be gone soon enough.

"What do you intend on doing with your grace?" The angel asked as Livvie began to smear blood across the glass.

"Revenge."

"Oh. I don't approve of that."

"No, I doubt it. It's not really in your job description, is it?"

"Who are you enacting this upon?"

"Castiel." Livvie said simply, and could see the little girl stiffen in her reflection.

"Castiel? What did he do to deserve this?"

"He killed my Father." Livvie told her, still painting. "I think that's reason enough."

"Perhaps not."

"Not to mention the fact that I need his grace."

"You are performing more than one ritual?" The girl asked. "You are ambitious."

"In about five minutes I will be more powerful than any of the angels in the garrison, combined." Livvie snapped. "I need to do this."

"I don't suppose you've considered forgiveness?"

"Forgiveness won't bring my Dad back." Finishing the sigil, she glanced at the horizon, keeping an eye on the sun.

"I can see you, child." Zedkiel said. "You have great capacity for love in that heart of yours. You might want to consider sharing it with someone other than your Father."

"Watch who you're calling child," She snapped. "Or have you not noticed the fact that you're wearing a little girl?"

"You are so very young, Olivia." The angel sighed. "Do you wish for so large a sin to be on your conscience?"

"I'm doing what I have to do!" She yelled.

"You do not have to do anything."

"Then I'm doing what I need to." Livvie took a step closer to her. "Why should he live while my Father is dead? Why does that backstabber deserve to live?"

"He killed your father."

"Yup."

"I fear I cannot stop you. Time grows short."

"That only just dawning on you?" Livvie looked out of the window, and her eyes widened as she saw the first sliver of true sunlight on the horizon. "Get out."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Livvie turned back to the angel. "Get out of her."

"Why are you asking me to do this?" She tilted her head to the side, eyes wide.

"Because I don't want to kill a little girl." Livvie took a step towards her. "She's innocent in all this."

"Whilst I am guilty?"

Livvie gritted her teeth. "Please."

The girl blinked, peering out of the window. Watching the sunrise with wide eyes, full of wonder and light, and a million-million years. Sighing slightly, she looked back to the woman in front of her, the young lady with big plans. "I hope I do you some good."

For a second nothing happened. Then the little girl bowed her head, closing her eyes and sighing. Suddenly, her head snapped up, her eyes wide open, exhaling. Bright light filled the room, blinding, hostilely bright, coming from the girl. This light would blind a normal human, burn their eyes out of their sockets in an instant. Not Livvie.

The angel stood apart from the child. Huge, yet suddenly so feeble, fragmented and weak alone in this environment without shelter.

A flash of the blade from Livvie and the angel doubled over. The silver only partially made contact, the angel not being quite of this realm in this state. But it hurt enough.

The blade twisted, and Livvie reached in, grabbing what she could. Turning fast, she took the charm from the table with the other hand, and moving with ease she rushed for the window, slamming both hands against the still-wet sigil. She hit too hard, the glass shattered under the pressure, but it was enough, the deed was done.

She felt it surge. She felt the power enter her body, she felt the sense of completeness fill her, submerge her, burning light roaring through her veins, feeling it tickle and tingle and burn. It raged over her, her body, for a second, overwhelmed by the strain of taking in this grace, but it remembered, it remembered how to do it. She remembered how it felt, to move with grace and breathe with grace and to look through the grace.

She was home.

When Livvie turned round, the angel had vanished. Dead, or in heaven, she didn't know.

She turned to the little girl still in the flame circle, noticing her eyes wide with terror. She waved a hand lazily, and the flames went out.

Livvie knelt down so she was level with the child.

"It's okay now." Livvie whispered soothingly. "It's gone. You're safe now."

The girl just looked at her with panicked eyes. "Where did they go?" She whispered. "Where did my friend go?"

~

Livvie took the little girl back to her parents. She had been missing for three months.

What does someone do when they have their powers restored to them? Livvie tried most things. She teleported. She cut open her hand and healed it again. She gave a blind man back his sight. She jumped off a cliff and she stole a drink.

But mostly she sat in a chair, thinking. Maybe it was the grace of the angel of forgiveness running through her veins, maybe it was just having her own grace back, or maybe it was just that she was so close to achieving her goal that she was starting to feel uneasy.

She had just, maybe, killed an angel. An angel that she harboured no ill feelings over, all in her mission to seek revenge for the death of her father. It did not sit well with her, any of it.

But she had still more work to do. She must push on.

Though she had the ability to teleport, she drove to a bar. She liked that car. And it would help keep up the pretence.

She followed Dean in. He was important. He was vital in her plan. It would be easier if she could get him on her side, but she didn't need that. She'd just needed him.

~

It went better than she could have hoped. Well, she didn't get to sleep with the Winchester, which would have been a fun way to pass the time, but she saw it all from afar. She saw Dean calling Cas, she saw the argument. She heard the unkind words that were spat, she felt the hurt feelings.

She knew the hurt that they were both feeling. But she couldn't let that stop her.

She followed Cas when he vanished. Carved ribs couldn't keep her away, not with her power.

She saw him land in the field, in the mud, on his hands and knees. She saw the angel sob, saw the tears fall, saw the hurt in the angel and the confusion at the horrendous harshness and intensity of this brand new experience.

But she couldn't let that stop her.

She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Flipping him over, she didn't take quite as much glee in the surprise in his face as she thought she would.

But she couldn't let that stop her.

"Time's up, Cassie." She forced a grin on her face, and quickly teleported them back to the house, throwing him into the oil ring from before.


	30. Chapter 30

Livvie was sitting on the chair, elbows on knees, toying with the angel blade with her fingertips. Cas had been asleep for a while, she'd knocked him out for a bit - she didn't want to deal with him just yet. She knew they had hours before everything started.

Angels are great at waiting. They can stand to attention for millennia and not think a thing of it. Nephilim, on the other hand... their human impatience intermingled with their angelic grace made tasks such as this far more arduous. However, it wasn't just her human half making this wait so difficult. It was her grace, the butchered, shuffled, shaken and stirred grace.

Her original was strong and present, the fighter, the copy of the weapon keeper of heaven; the strong, prepared one. But there was a new presence there now, a new aspect of her, however small, trying to make its voice heard; Zedkiel, the angel of forgiveness, was throwing her off balance. Livvie was now the proverbial lover and the fighter.

She hadn't noticed to start with, happy to simply sit there and bask in the future prospect of revenge and justice, but then it started. It was small, but there; The impulse to widen the oil circle out of worry for the angel's wellbeing, not for her own plan; The memory of those alien tears ghosting down the angels face, tinged not with glee at the angels sorrow, but with guilt and pity. The sadness was still etched onto his motionless face, and that was what finally forced her to move the game along.

She waved her hand and Castiel woke with a sharp inhale. He took a second to get his bearings, blinking at the flames licking in front of him, sitting up and looking around. Livvie noticed that widening the circle had been prudent as his foot scraped the old oil line.

"Morning, Cassie." Livvie called from behind him, and he turned quickly, scrambling to his feet. The sadness that had previously been so present on his face was gone, only to be replaced with heavenly rage.

"Olivia." He spoke,

"In the flesh!" She sung, performing a twirl for him. "Notice anything different about me?"

He frowned, searching her with his eyes before his dwindling grace kicked into action, recognising a fellow angelic grace. "You managed to restore your grace without your father's assistance?"

"Clearly." She bristled at the mention of Balthazar.

"And who did you take?" Castiel demanded, taking a step forward, closer to the fire lapping eagerly at his feet.

Livvie hesitated, guilt sparking inside of her. She stood a little taller, though; she had done what she had to.

"Zedkiel."

Castiel stiffened as he processed the information. Livvie watched as his jaw clenched, as his hands fisted at his sides.

"Of all the angels to choose..."

"She was the one chosen." Livvie told him forcefully. "Trust me; of all the angels I wanted to hurt, she was at the bottom of my list."

"Did she survive?" Cas demanded of her.

She hesitated again. "I don't know." She admitted, "She was gone by the time I had finished." Livvie took a step towards him. "I'm sorry it was her."

Cas visibly relaxed somewhat, taking a step back, looking at her up and down, eyes narrowing at her words. "You are right. I do sense something different about you."

She tensed, and turned away, aware that those feeling she had been trying to quell had just visibly surfaced. She forced them down.

"Lovers' quarrel?" She changed the subject abruptly.

"I don't understand." He replied.

"You and Dean, before I picked you up." She turned back to him and smirked. "Seemed pretty serious."

"It is none of your concern." He told her.

She stepped up close to the circle, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes. "Do you wanna know what he was doing right before?" She grinned, leaning in and whispering. "Me. We were fucking." She stepped back, looking at his face, waiting for a reaction. "How do you feel about that?"

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly, but did not react otherwise. "I feel indifference."

"Oh really?" She laughed. "I've been in your head, Cassie; I've seen what you think. And I think you're jealous. I think you wish it was you." When Cas didn't react she continued. "You hear Dean bragging about his latest slut and you can't bear it. You vanish somewhere and Dean thinks you don't want to listen because you disapprove, or you're a prude. But it's not that. You're a little green eyed monster."

"You seem extraordinarily fascinated in my sex life." Cas noted. "What is it that fascinates you? I would suggest your own sex life might be lacking, but we both know that's not true."

"Oooh, burn." Livvie winked.

"Perhaps it's the lack of emotional connection in your life?" Cas offered. "With no love life to speak of in your adolescence, and your absent Father figure, you seem to be projecting your own-"

He was interrupted by a collection of fancy china in a cabinet behind him falling off of the shelves and onto the floor. No other sign that his words had hit shone on her face, though.

"Call me cupid." She smirked.

"Your timing is ill-planned," Cas pointed out. "If you plan on killing me so soon."

She paused, contemplating. "True." She cocked her head. "I never thought that my legacy in this world would be to stop people from having sex."

Cas rolled his eyes, a mannerism he had picked up from the hunter. He didn't see the point of the gesture, nor understood it, but felt it to be appropriate at that moment.

Livvie noticed it, and she softened at the gesture, finding herself touched by the sheer humanness of it.

"I didn't want it to be this way, you know." Livvie told him, and Cas turned back.

"I doubt many wanted this outcome." He snapped.

"No, I mean," She sat back down, sighing. "You're my Dad's best friend. You're practically my uncle." She looked up at him. "I was meant to go to you for help if I needed it. You were the one I could trust."

Cas softened, and Livvie continued.

"We were meant to work together, I can see that now. Two outcasts together."

"Then why are you so set on killing me?"

"It's not about you, not any more. This is way past revenge now."

"Then what has it to do with?" Cas asked. "If not vengeance, then what?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but noticed a change. Cas's stance had shifted, his eyes wandered; he was altogether distracted.

"What, what is it?" She demanded, and his gaze snapped back to her.

"It's nothing."

"No, what is it?" She asked again, noticing an unconscious flinch. And then she recognised it. It was a look she had seen before, a look she had seen in her Father's face before. And now that she had noticed it, she could feel it too, a twinge in her grace.

"My, my, Cassie; are you being called?" She smiled. "Who is it?"

"It is not of import." He told her, brushing it off, but she held tight.

"Oh, no; I think it is. Who is it, Cassie? Who could possibly be calling you?" She tilted her head. "I wonder..."

She stood up and stepped forwards. Careful of the flames, she leant forward and grabbed his wrist, holding tight. He tried to tug back, to use his opportunity to get hold of her, to get some form of physical high ground, but she instantly stilled him with a wave, paralysing him as he stood. Unable to struggle, she held on tight and listened.

"Cas? I'm sorry, Cas. Just... get back here? Please?"

"Woah..." She smiled, letting go and stepping back, releasing him. "Would you listen to that? Your boyfriend is calling."

"They would have noticed my absence."

"Well, the boys aren't that dim, are they?" She smiled. She pulled out her phone from her pocket and dialled a number. After a couple of rings, it was answered.

"Cas?" A gruff voice could be heard on the other side of the phone, urgent and eager.

"Not quite, Dean." Livvie smugly told him, winking to Cas from across the room as he watched her with silent rage.


	31. Chapter 31

"Plans change, lover boy. Decided I'd kill him now instead."

Dean whipped the phone away from his face for a second, looking like he was about to throw it into the lake in anger, but quickly brought it back up to his ear.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Dean growled at her.

"Oh, and why's that?" She purred back.

"Because," Dean told her. "I will find you. If you hurt him, if you do anything, I will kill you. I won't even hesitate."

"I'm quaking in my boots." She giggled down the phone. "I didn't realise you cared so much for the little fairy. Whatever." He could almost hear her shrug. "Didn't you wonder why I called you? Why I didn't just kill him to be done with it?"

"I figured you were gloating."

"Oh, no. I'm giving you a chance to say goodbye. You see, I'm not as cruel as Cassie; I'm not just leaving you to wonder what happened to him. You get your goodbye. Whether it's loving or not is up to you." He heard a static woosh, and a thump, and her voice distant in the background. "Say goodbye to lover boy."

Dean swallowed hard as he heard the scratching of hands against the phone, and audible breathing getting closer. He tried to speak, but it caught as it came out.

"Ca-cas?" He finally managed. There was no sound but the breathing on the other end for a few seconds.

"Dean?" Cas replied, and Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Cas, hold in there. We're coming for you."

"Don't." The angel told him firmly. "Dean, don't come."

"We're not gonna leave you to her. No; we won't. I won't."

"She'll kill you as soon as you're here."

"Me and Sam have taken down a lot bigger than a little girl, Cas. We can handle her."

"She's not a little girl anymore, Dean." The angel hissed. "You can't take her down."

Dean paused, hesitant. Then shook his head. "I don't care."

"I do, Dean." Cas told him solemnly. "Just go. I'm not worth your life."

"Cas-"

"Dean-"

And suddenly the phone went silent. The call had ended.

Dean held the phone to his ear for a few seconds, before lowering it slowly, staring at it. His jaw was set, eyes fierce, seething.

"Dean?" Sam asked gently.

Dean looked up at his brother, who was watching him with care and clear anxiety. His earlier anger had softened, mollified now that his brother was finally treating the angel with respect rather than rage.

"Sam," Dean asked. "Do you know how to trace a call?"

~

"That was touching, Cassie." Livvie smirked as she whipped the phone from Castiel's hand with her regained angelic powers. "Really. Looks like the tin-man finally found his heart."

"It doesn't matter." Cas told her firmly.

"Oh, but I think it does." Livvie smiled, sitting down on a chair and crossing her legs, the epitome of relaxation. "Because it means they're coming for you. And he's not going to give up easily." She smiled smugly.

Cas suddenly felt wary. It was a trap.

"They won't come for me." Cas said with faux confidence. "I instructed them not to."

"Oh, and they always listen to your instructions, do they?" She asked, smirking. "They're coming."

~

"Thanks, Jody." Sam said into the phone.

"No problem!" The police officer told him. "A simple trace is easy, compared to some of the hassle you guys have given me."

"Well, we appreciate it." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, I know." He could hear her smile. "Listen, don't hesitate to get in touch, you know? If you need me, I'm there."

"Thanks."

"Alright. Say Hi to Dean for me. Keep safe... or, whatever."

Sam chuckled. "Will do. Bye." He hung up, looking back to Dean. "Jody says hi."

"That's great, Sammy. Did she say anything else? Did you talk about the weather?" Dean rattled impatiently.

"Yeah, alright." He raised his eyebrows. "She did it. Not far away, a house in the next town over. She gave me an address."

Dean stood up, grabbing his bag. "Right, let's get going."

"Dean, wait." Sam stopped him, and Dean looked round, surprised. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

Dean looked taken aback. "I'm sorry; I think I just heard you say that rescuing Cas from a psychopath was a bad idea."

"You heard him, Dean. He warned us not to come, that she wasn't just a girl anymore."

"So?" Dean was practically yelling. "You're seriously saying you don't think we should go?"

"No!" Sam stood up, trying to placate his brother. "Of course not, Dean! What I'm saying is that we need to be smart about it."

"What the hell is that meant to mean?"

"I'm saying that this is obviously a trap. We charge in there, guns blazing, she's got us right where she wants us. That's not going to help, at all."

"So then what the hell do you think we should do?"

Sam sighed. "We think about this. We come up with a plan that doesn't involve us all getting killed."

"We don't have time, Sam! We need to go, now!" Dean looked furious, twitching with anxiety and downright fear. And for a second, Sam hesitated. This was the most emotional he'd seen his brother for a long time. For so long now, Dean had been burying his emotions, deep down, too deep to find, drowning them in alcohol and sex. But now, it was finally coming out – Dean was showing the cracks, and even though this is what Sam had been waiting for, for his brother to actually show himself, to share what he was going through, it terrified him. Because he didn't know if his big brother could survive this one. This might be the one that finished him.

Sam stood up, grabbing his things.

"Fine. We can figure it out on the way."


	32. Chapter 32

Dean's driving was worse than usual. He turned corners far too quickly, ran red lights, barely escaped running over some unsuspecting pedestrians. It really was a miracle there were no cops around.

Dean was so determined to get there, he didn't care if he got himself killed in the process.

"Dean! Seriously!" Sam yelped as the car skirted the curb, sending them skidding.

"Aren't you meant to be planning, Sammy?"

"I'm too busy trying to work out if we'll get there alive or not!"

"I'm not slowing down." He said through gritted teeth.

"Do we have any holy oil left? Any spare angel blades?" Sam asked him.

"She got them both." Dean spat.

"We must've had spares. The amount of angels we fought, we must have another!"

"Don't know what to tell you, Sammy; we don't." Dean shrugged.

Sam sighed, wiping his hands down his face. "Bobby would know."

Dean glanced over to his brother. "Gee, great idea. Ask the dead guy; that'll work."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "We could call an angel? Take their blade?"

"No way will one of them give up their blade; not to us."

"We'd be fighting a common cause. You never know."

"Sam, I'm willing to try anything, so long as it don't slow us down." He told him, turning another corner.

"Right." Sam glanced around. "How do we summon an angel?"

"Dunno. They've always just... appeared." Dean shrugged.

Sam leant forward and popped open the glove box, searching for anything. Unfortunately, Dean swerved a corner, and mounds of paper, litter and assorted weapons spilt out, pouring to Sam's feet.

"Jeez!"

"Quit whining." Dean snapped.

Sam leant in, and Dean resumed a steady pace. But suddenly, unnaturally, their Dad's journal that had gotten lodged inside the compartment slid out, whacking Sam on the head. He winced and picked it up, but before he had the chance to open it, it flipped open, landing on the page detailing the address of John Winchesters old storage unit.

Sam dismissed it, flicking through for something of use, but as soon as he paused, the book flicked the pages back to the storage unit address, as if the spine had been bent to that page. Again, Sam pushed past it, going back to where he had gotten and moving further, though found the pages slipping back, fanning as though in a breeze; and somehow almost in annoyance.

Sam looked round, checking out the windows, but found they were all closed. "Dean, did you get air conditioner in here, or something?"

His brother glanced round, frowning, clearly not impressed with the question. "Is now the time?"

"Humour me."

"No. No air-con. Why?"

"It could be nothing..." Sam frowned, checking out the page. "Because Dad's journal keeps opening on the same page."

"What the hell has that to do with my car?"

"It's breezing to it... like..."

"Like what?" Dean snapped.

"Like a breeze, or... a ghost?"

"A ghost?" Dean looked at the journal. "There's a ghost in my car?"

"It keeps opening on the address for Dad's storage unit."

"What the hell is Casper doing in my car?"

"Dean, maybe we should go to it." Sam suggested.

"What?" Dean blinked. "You're saying we listen to a ghost? That only maybe exists? Do you hear yourself?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's a ghost! We hunt those things; we don't take advice from them!"

"But what if it's right?"

Dean looked at his brother. "You seriously think that?"

Sam looked back at the book, and sighed. "Yeah, I do."

Dean looked back at the road, and made a snap decision. "Fine." He said, turning the car around. "But if this is a wild goose chase, I'm holding you responsible."

"I'll take that." Sam agreed.

The boys couldn't see, of course, but an old drunk leant back in the back in the back seat. Swayzeying things was exhausting.

"Idjits."

~

"What's the hold up, Cassie?" Livvie asked, leaning back on the chair. "They're taking their sweet time, aren't they?" She smirked. "They're not calling, either."

Cas sighed. "I thought your plan here was to kill me." He reminded her. "You seem to be stalling."

"I'm taking my time, kitten." She laughed. "We have to wait on lover boy and chuckle-head, now, don't we?"

"Surely they would impede your plan," He guessed. "Why do you want them here?"

"Oh, they're necessary." Livvie smiled. "Those old rituals did need a lot of ingredients."

"Ritual?" Cas questioned. "What ritual? What are you planning?"

Livvie's eyes snapped wide, instantly realising she'd said too much. A second later her poker face was back, but Cas noticed.

"Nothing. Don't you worry about it." She said, a little too quickly.

Cas looked around the room, taking in the items that she had placed around. There was holy oil, and the angel blade, but that was to be expected. There was nothing more, though. So he looked deeper. Aside from the Angel paraphernalia, there was also a Nephilim, a hugely powerful creature; a falling angel, and soon to be two humans.

No, not just humans. Two archangels' vessels.

Cas looked back to her, realisation dawning on his face. Livvie saw the look on his face, the change, the quiet smugness of knowledge, and a flash of fear crossed across her face.

"You're performing-" Cas went to ask, but was immediately cut off, his lips sealed shut with a pinch of Livvie's fingers.

She came up close to him, practically in his face as she hissed her words.

"No, Castiel; you will not ruin this for me."


	33. Chapter 33

They arrived at the storage unit quickly, within half an hour of making the decision to go there. Dean almost turned the car around twice, agonising over the choice to drive further away from Cas, rather than towards him, but Sam made him keep going.

They stopped in the lot and Dean had barely put the car into park before he was out of the rusty vehicle, heading straight for the storage unit. It wasn't far, and Dean practically ran it, while Sam lagged behind, trying to find the right key on a ring.

By the time they got to the door he had found it, and quickly pressed it into the lock. It opened, though a little stiffly from disuse. Sam slid up the door, and it rattled with an echo back into the room beyond, dark and covered in cobwebs and dust. They could see the dust in the air, lit up by sunbeams making their way in.

Despite being in such a hurry earlier, they stepped in slowly, almost reverently, switching on flashlights that they had grabbed to light their way.

"What are we looking for?" Sam asked.

"It was your ghost." Dean grumbled. "Why would Dad have anything that worked on an angel? He didn't even know they existed."

"Might've found something and stuck it in here, anyway." He suggested.

"Seems like a lot of 'ifs' and 'mights' to me, Sammy." Dean pointed out.

"Just..." Sam craned his neck, checking out the devils trap on the ceiling. "Keep looking."

So they looked. And they kept looking. Papa Winchester had accumulated a lot of Supernatural memorabilia over the years, without keeping any form of thorough record of it. There was no neat cataloguing system, only eyes and guesswork.

Dean eyed up some of the curse boxes on a shelf. He remembered a few years back, when a 'lucky' rabbit's foot had been stolen from here. It had caused no end of havoc, with both Sammy and himself getting hit by the curse before they managed to destroy it. The things in the boxes were powerful, but were they worth the risk of opening?

"We could use your Casper, again." Dean called, and Sam glanced over. He knew Dean was right. It was all very well and good pointing them to here, but their Dad had practically hoarded this stuff.

Behind him he heard something crash, echoing loudly through the room. Looking to Dean, he saw his brother shrug in confusion, then took his gun. Following suit, they both walked slowly over to the source of the noise.

There wasn't anything there. Nothing moving now, at least; nothing except the dust cloud that was trying to settle. But they could see what had been moved. A large sheet of metal was now lying flat on the floor, where it had previously been placed against the wall, covering a built in set of shelves.

"Huh." Sam said.

Dean squatted down on his knees, looking into the shelves. They were almost empty, aside from the dust, except for one thing. Curved wood met pristine gold, fluid and melding into each other, and locked into it, a solid gold and perfectly formed arrow.

"A crossbow?" Dean asked, picking it up gingerly off the shelf to get a better look at it.

"A fancy one." Sam said. "Gold."

Dean held it closer to his face, trying to get a better look at it. "Sammy, shine your light over here, would you?"

Sam obliged, shining the flashlight onto it. They both winced as the light glared off of the shiny gold, but then peered closer at it, properly seeing what they couldn't before.

"Does that look like..." Dean wondered, looking at the carved and engrained symbols.

"Enochian. Yeah." Sam agreed. "It does."

"Huh." Dean huffed, then held it properly, like the way he'd seen in the movies. "Uh, any idea how to use it?"

"Dad never really gave us crossbow training, did he?"

"Not really." Dean concurred. "The arrows are reusable, right?"

Sam frowned at him. "You planning on shooting some cans on a fence?"

"Something like that." Dean swung it round and took aim at a small figurine at the top of a shelving unit. He pulled and released the trigger and, amazingly, it hit precisely where Dean had been aiming. The old angel statuette that had been placed above his crib as a baby was now reduced to shards of china, and Dean smiled at the success.

"Dean!" Sam yelped.

"Oh, what?" He shot back.

"What?" Sam retorted. "One, what if you missed and hit some random object?"

"I didn't."

"Well, you could've. And that was Mum's statue!"

"Well, Sammy; I don't want angels watching over me anymore. It felt appropriate."

Sam looked at the shards and sighed as Dean reached up and pulled out the arrow from the wall.

"See? All good." He smiled, giving the weapon an affectionate pat. "Looks like we got us a weapon."


	34. Chapter 34

They had been driving for about ten minutes. Sam had been examining the crossbow for almost the entire time, trying to glean some hidden meaning in it whilst he planned strategies.

"I mean," He pondered. "It's reusable, but we really only have one shot with it."

Dean agreed. "I can't go fish it out of the wall behind her without her noticing. I get it."

"Right." Sam nodded. "So how we gonna do this?"

"I shoot her." Dean told him.

"Yeah, great, Dean." Sam said. "But we have to plan this. She notices you, plans dead. She can mojo the arrow out of the way."

"So what's you great plan?"

"I go in the front. Distract her."

"While I go for the back." Dean concurred.

"Yeah. We don't know the layout, though; we don't know where she's got him, anything."

"We've tackled worse than a house, Sammy."

"Yeah, but worse than a Nephillim? I don't think so."

"So, tell me; what do we do?" Dean demanded.

Sam sighed. "I don't know." He glanced out the window. "Turn left."

They pulled into a long road, marvelling at the houses placed along it. "Lifestyles of the rich and famous." Dean muttered, glaring at a particularly large, obnoxious house.

"This one." Sam pointed, and Dean slowed the car to a stop. They both stared at it.

"It's bigger than I was expecting." Dean grumbled.

"It's got surveillance, too." Sam noted.

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, Sam's words hit him. Lifting his head, he peered out the window. "Cameras? Where?"

"Uh, there's one." Sam pointed to a small camera above the wall on the driveway.

Dean grinned. "Finally we catch a break. Pass me your laptop."

He did. "What're you doing?"

"Heh." Dean chuckled. "Frank taught me a few tricks." He opened up the computer, and within a few minutes he had every camera within the house on his screen.

"Wow." Sam breathed. "That was pretty cool."

"What was that?" Dean asked, smug in his skills.

"Shut it." Sam snapped, grabbing the laptop, much to Dean's chagrin. He scrolled through the camera, and eventually smiled. "Bingo."

"Let's see." Dean leant over.

On the screen were Cas and Olivia. Cas stood inside of what was clearly a ring of fire, while Livvie sat, swinging on a chair, toying with the angel blade.

"The kitchen." Dean commented, moving through the screens. "It's at the back of the house. I could shoot through a window."

"You think that'll work?"

"It'll have to." Dean switched back to the kitchen. They both stared at the scene, watching.

"She's not done it yet, then," Sam pointed out. "Killed him."

"Apparently not," Dean agreed. "She looks like she's... waiting."

"I was right." Sam surmised. "It was a trap."

"Yeah, fine, you were right." Dean said. "It doesn't change anything. Now can we go in there and stop this?"

"Yeah."

Dean took one last look at the screen. "We're coming for you, Cas; hang in there."

~

Sam and Dean were well seasoned professionals at avoiding surveillance cameras. Dean, after having worked out roughly where they all were from the computer, kept his eye out and successfully managed to skirt each one, keeping to the shadows as best he could. He let Sam be his conscience here; care needed to take precedence over the situation – if Livvie caught him, their plan was dead.

He went to the back of the house, remembering that was where the kitchen had been located, overlooking the rather spacious garden. He needed somewhere to hide.

Sam didn't fare so well, but that was okay. Though he made some effort to stay inconspicuous, the security was heavier at the front of the house, and anyway; as decoy, he was meant to be noticed.

Though they didn't even know if Livvie had found the cameras, so the point was moot anyhow.

Sam bypassed the security system with the same ease as Livvie had done only the day before. He tried to remember his mental map of the house that he had pieced together with the security camera footage, but, damn it; there were a lot of rooms, and a camera for each.

He made a wrong turn once, ending up in a study lined with full bookshelves, but quickly backed out and retraced. Finally he found himself outside the kitchen door. He listened as he brought up his gun, ready for use. He couldn't hear much, other than the soft crackling of the fire, but when he strained his ears he could make out something more.

Singing. Livvie was humming quietly to herself as she waited.

Sam frowned in disbelief at her. She was holding his friend hostage, and she was singing. Pushing down the urge to scoff in anger, he simply shook his head and gripped his gun tighter, before taking a deep breath and rounding the corner.

~

The grounds were as unexpectedly vast as the house was, and, unfortunately, sunk at the back. It made room for another floor underneath the ground floor, and made the kitchen now way above him.

"Son of a bitch." Dean spat, looking up the wall as it grew higher and higher above his head the longer he walked along it. Tall as he was, he couldn't jump that.

As he turned the corner of the house, he looked up, seeing that the back of the ground floor had a large balcony across it that presumably came from the kitchen. Annoyingly enough, it didn't have any steps to the garden below.

"Stupid rich people." Dean grumbled, looking up, trying to gauge how he was going to do this. He leant his hand against the wall, and was startled when his hand didn't land on brick, but instead fell onto dry leaves and through to stalks. He turned to look at it, surprised, when he saw that the entire wall was covered in crawling ivy.

"Huh." Dean huffed, looking it up and down. It had been several years since he'd done that, not since he was 17 when he'd snuck into a girl's room in the dead of night.

It held him up well enough then.

Grabbing a handful of leaves he hoisted himself up, hooking his foot into the trellis below. It held. He lifted his other hand a little higher, pulling himself up, and began to climb.

As his confidence grew, he climbed faster, though regretted it pretty soon when the ivy in his hand gave way and his foot below slid.

He wasn't going to be much good with a broken neck.

Gingerly, he crawled up the wall, making his way up very carefully. He almost fell again, but held on tight, eventually scrambling onto the balcony. He could see through the window. He could see Sam against the wall, and he could see Livvie. He had a clear shot. He lifted the crossbow, aiming...

~

"Olivia." Sam roared, pointing the gun straight at her head. He glanced over at the angel in the circle, nodding in greeting.

"Sammy!" Livvie cried. "So nice of you to join us." She moved her gaze to the gun as she languidly stood up. "Is that really necessary?"

"Let him go," Sam ordered. "Or I will shoot."

"Oh, it's never just 'hello' with you boys, is it?" She sighed. "Sure, you could shoot me..." She reached out her hand and curled her fingers into a fist. "Wouldn't do much good, though."

Sam's eyes widened as he watched the gun in his hand begin to crumple, wide dents in it, like a hand curling around it, until the barrel was completely crushed.

He dropped the useless weapon to the floor.

"You got your powers back?" Sam questioned.

Livvie raised her eyebrows and scoffed. "You didn't work that one out?" She asked in disbelief. "Cassie as good as told you on the phone."

Sam shook his head, looking absolutely disappointed in himself. Livvie cocked her head in amazement. "Wow. You're even stupider than you look.

She threw out her hand, and Sam shot back, shoved against the wall. For good measure she mentally pinned down his arms and legs, leaving him completely unable to remove himself from it.

"Speaking of," She continued. "Where is Tweedledum?"

Sam looked over to Cas, who was standing there silently, but clearly watching eagerly. Sam noticed how quiet he was being, and frowned. "What did you do to Cas?"

"Oh, I put him on mute." She clarified. "His voice was grating, wouldn't you say?" She chuckled, before getting back on topic. "Where's your brother? I mean... I only need the one, but it would be nice to have a full set."

"Dean's not coming." Sam told her, through clenched teeth.

"Really?" She asked incredulously. "After all his big old hissy fit earlier, he's not gonna come bust him boyfriend out?"

Sam stared her down. "He changed his mind. He decided you can have him."

Cas blinked, and Sam looked over to him as best he could, startled by the sudden sadness he saw in him. He fought the urge to tell him the truth, to hint to him, somehow, but instead opted for "I'm sorry."

"So Dean's not coming? He's so changeable!" Livvie smiled, glancing around the room, getting only blank stares in return. "No? No British TV fans here?" She pouted. "You should educate yourselves."

"I don't tend to get much downtime." Sam grunted to her.

"Oh, I'm sure." She rolled her eyes. Walking closer to him, she stopped an inch from his nose. "The thing is, Sammy; I'm not as stupid as you look. I don't buy this 'Dean changed his mind' business for a second. And even if he had, there's no way he'd let you go in here alone. So," She poked his shoulder roughly. "Where. Is. Your. Brother?"

Almost as if on cue, Sam saw Dean scramble onto the deck outside of the window. He tried not to look, keep his eyes steady on Olivia. He swallowed.

But it was Dean who alerted her to it. As he raised the crossbow, he shifted his weight on the deck, and it creaked.

She turned her head, looking straight at the window where Dean was.

He pulled the trigger, too quickly for her to stop him.

But she was fast too. She narrowed her eyes, spotting the weapon heading towards her with ease, and extended her hand, ready to push it away with an arrogant sweep.

Their plan was destroyed.


	35. Chapter 35

Livvie's hand was out, a smug smile on her face as she made eye contact with Dean. She knew she had won.

Dean and Sam both winced, both knowing that the shot had been fired too late. She had seen it. It was over.

The only person who wasn't acting accordingly was Castiel. His eyes were wide in surprise and recognition, and he leaned forward, desperately trying to catch a better glimpse at the weapon, at what it was about to do.

Livvie struck her arm out to the left, using her grace to shove aside the golden arrow heading straight for her, unobstructing the path to her chest.

And it remained so. Despite her sweep, the arrow stayed true, refusing to be pushed aside or swept away or be impeded in any way by angelic grace. And in less than a second, the distance was crossed, and the arrow plunged straight into her chest.

Sam fell off the wall, and Cas's mouth dropped open. He lifted his hand to meet it, surprised at the soreness there, whilst Sam picked himself up from the floor. Dean went to the glass door and smashed a hole in it, opening it from the outside, unable to wait for them to let him in.

They all looked at Olivia, who had dropped to her knees, holding the arrow at her chest.

"Enochian?" She choked.

"Where did you get that?" Castiel asked in awe as Dean rushed over, throwing his jacket onto the flames long enough for them to be dampened so that Cas could cross over.

"Dad's storage unit." Sam told him.

"We didn't know about it, but it had Enochian on it; we figured it would work." Dean explained, handing it to Cas.

"It is one of heaven's weapons," Cas told them as he turned it over in his hands. "Forged during Lucifer's rebellion, impervious to angelic powers." He looked up to Dean, amazement in his eyes. "This is Michael's bow, only he or his vessel can wield it."

"Well," Dean said, unsure of what to say. "Glad to see that meatsuit business is finally coming in handy."

"Will it kill her?" Sam asked, eyeing up the girl on the floor with slight worry. They stopped her, as they always intended to do, but now that she was bleeding out on the floor, much of his earlier anger had abated. She shuffled back across the floor, her back to the wall, still clutching the arrow, panting heavily.

"Slow poison." Cas said. "Dehibilitating and power-stripping."

"Works for me." Dean said gruffly, turning his attention back to Cas. He swallowed, trying to face the angel. "Cas, did she-" He shook his head. "Did she hurt you?"

"No, I am unharmed." Cas replied.

"Well," Dean nodded, and clapped a hand to Cas's shoulder, the most intimacy he could muster. "I'm glad you're okay."

Cas's eyes softened at the gesture, unused to Dean's kindness after days of hostility. He wasn't sure if it would last, he didn't know how frantically Dean had been trying to rescue him, but right now, he felt like his friend was back.

Sam smiled, happy to see his brother happy, happy to have saved Cas. It was over.

Except,

Sam saw, from the corner of his eye, Olivia move. He looked round, seeing her hand grasped tight around the angel blade, lifting it up.

"I said," She hissed through gritted teeth, staring at Cas. "You won't ruin this for me."

She threw the blade.

Livvie had good aim, even with an arrow through her chest. It swam through the air, spinning as it went, sailing straight towards Cas, too fast to stop, too fast.

But it didn't strike home. It didn't reach Cas.

Dean pushed him out of the way, launching himself in its path.

It sunk into his chest to the hilt, and his knees gave way beneath him.


	36. Chapter 36

Cas caught Dean, scrambling hands under his arms, trying to hold the weight of the hunter.

"Dean!" He cried as Sam helped lower him to the floor.

Dean grasped hold of Sam's sleeve, eyes ferociously determined through the pain.

"Sammy?"

"I'm here, Dean." The younger brother whispered, clasping a hand over Dean's grip. "You're okay."

Dean looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest, attempting a chuckle but groaning in pain instead. "I think I'm a bit far from okay."

He spat up some blood, trying to avoid coughing like his body was telling him to.

"It's punctured his lung." Cas stated, keeping his voice level, clinical.

Livvie was watching horrified from a distance. She had never meant for this. She had never meant to hurt Dean.

"Cas?" Dean asked, and the angel moved round so the hunter could see him. He paid no heed to his bloodied hands as he took hold of his friend.

"You shouldn't have done that." Cas told him.

"Was worth it." Dean gasped. "You're okay." He scoffed, using his free hand to grab the bloodied hands of the angel. "Cas," he pulled the angel a little closer. "I'm sorry."

Cas's jaw clenched, unable to form a reply. Of all the times for Dean to make an apology.

"You have nothing to apologise for." Cas asserted.

"No, I do." Dean told him. "I'm just glad I could save you."

Cas blinked hard, a tear falling from his eyes to join those already flowing freely from Sam's.

"And I will return the favour." Cas replied. The angel placed two fingers onto Dean's forehead, and, tugging out the blade, gave Dean everything he had.

Everything.

The room shone with the effort as he gave the last of himself. He poured his power into the wound, fusing and healing it, shaking profusely.

"It's working." Sam breathed as he watched Dean, eyes only for his brother.

None of them saw, but Livvie did the same, leaning forward to watch, but her reasoning was different. Her plan was back on track.

So lost in what was happening, the men had failed to notice Dean's blood, or more specifically, where it was going. Livvie had oiled a pattern onto the floor, which the blood flowed freely into and filled it out.

The blood of a powerful vessel.

And Cas's grace was pouring out, all being used to save a loved one.

The grace of an angel, the life of the killer.

Livvie pulled he arrow from her chest and threw it into the mix as she began chanting in Enochian.

A powerful creature.

The pattern began to burn into the floor, and the Winchesters turned to spare a glance, finally aware something was happening.

"What the-" Dean bean, but got distracted as the light levels in the room grew to blinding levels. They shielded their eyes, aware of what angels light could do.

Dean felt a heavy weight land on him, the spent body of the angel a dead weight on his now perfectly healed chest.

"Dean, we should get out of here!" Sam yelled through gritted teeth.

"But Cas-"

"Bring him!" Sam instructed. They both went to move, but found themselves knocked back by an unknown force.

"What's happening?" Dean cried.

And then to go with the blinding light, a screeching started, high pitched, loud enough to smash glass and enough to threaten the same to their eardrums.

Both Winchesters threw their hands to their ears, trying to protect themselves from the onslaught.

"Angels," Dean yelled. "Sam, its angels!"

Finally, excruciatingly, it began to fade, until only one thing could be heard.

"Dad?"

It was Olivia who had spoken.

The boys opened their eyes, aware that the burning light had dimmed.

Dean's gaze went straight to Cas, looking at the man strewn on the floor, and most disturbingly of all, the burnt wing prints on the floor.

But then he followed Sam's stare to Olivia, and he saw him. The angel, so familiar, yet so strange. He was knelt on the floor over his daughter, who was looking at him with such childish love and awe that her pain was forgotten. To her, there was nothing in the world left but the fact that her Father was back.

"Olivia." Balthazar spoke softly through lips that hadn't moved in a year. He caressed her cheek, and even Dean could see the care there. If it hadn't just killed Cas, he may have been moved.

Instead he picked up the angel blade, brandishing it towards the pair.

"Don't bother." The angel said, finally looking over. He stood up, leaving his daughter on the floor and walking towards the Winchesters, grabbing his wrist with ease and throwing the blade away. "We're on the same side."

"Really?" Dean spat. "Cos the way I see it, you just killed Cas."

Balthazar looked down to the broken body of his brother on the floor. "We parted comrades, you and I, don't forget that. I died for you, Cas died for me. It's kismet." He shrugged. "He's not nearly as dead as you think, anyway." Balthazar told them. He knelt down over the body and placed his hand to Castiel's forehead.

"What're you-?" Dean asked, but stopped as he watched in amazement as the man began to breathe, slowly, agonisingly slowly.

Balthazar stood up.

"You may want to get him to a hospital." He advised. He cast one more look to his brother, before turning his back and walking to his daughter, scooping her up in his arms, and promptly vanishing.

Dean had already stopped watching Balthazar, dropping to his knees, ignoring the blood on the floor as it soaked his jeans. He took Cas's shoulder and shook it, lightly at first, but then rougher.

"Cas?" Dean asked, voice rough, begging for a reaction. "Cas, wake up." He pleaded.

But his eyes didn't open.


	37. Chapter 37

They drove to the nearest hospital as fast as they could. Sam took the wheel while Dean sat in the backseat, cradling Cas's head in his lap, alternating barked instructions of "careful" and "faster", yelling every time there was a bump, anything that might hurt Cas.

Dean carried the man, cradling him in his arms, resting his flopping head on his shoulder whilst Sam led the way into the hospital.

The elder Winchester barely let go of Cas, yelling at the Doctors that he needed to stay with him, that he couldn't leave him. Sam had to peel him away, promising him that he would see him soon.

Dean spent the entire time pacing, kicking a few chairs, and went so far as to put a serious crack in a window. Sam spent the time trying to calm him down, but he had little luck. He rarely saw his brother like this, never this bad. This anxiety, this panic, this sheer anger and fear.

After what felt like an age, the Doctor returned.

"Physically, he's fine." The Doctor told them. "I can't see any reason why he should be comatose."

"So he'll wake up?" Sam asked.

"Of course he will." Dean vehemently assured.

The Doctor looked at Dean warily. "As it's unclear why he's in the coma in the first place, I honestly can't tell either way."

"I can." Dean replied firmly.

"You can see him when these forms have been filled." She said, fidgeting with her clipboard. "How do you know Mister Singer?"

"We're cousins." Sam told her, casting his eye to Dean, who was practically twitching, desperate to get to Cas. "I'll do this. You go to him."

Dean didn't need telling twice, merely nodding to his brother and brushing past the Doctor, who, frankly, looked relieved to be rid of him.

He followed the corridor, looking for the right window, brushing past four immediately before spotting the right one.

He hesitated at the window, his hand resting on the door handle. For all of his anxiety to go to him, to be at Cas's side, he found he couldn't move.

The room was painted white, and everything within it was either white or a washed out blue. But that was nothing compared to how pale the man looked. His dark hair stuck out against his pale skin, and the light blue hospital gown struck ugly against him, inhuman and sickening.

Steeling himself, he turned the handle and walked in, approaching the bed.

It was deathly quiet in there, the silence punctured only by the sound of machines rhythmically beeping along with the man's heartbeat.

Dean blinked hard, feeling moisture dampen his eyes.

He walked closer to Cas, getting a better look at him. His chest was moving up and down slowly, but that was his only movement. His entire body was still and rigid, arms placed over the bed sheets, an IV drip fed into his arm.

What struck dean was Cas's face. The face that was usually so impassive and stoic, so expressionless, was now completely... dead. It was only now that Dean realised that despite his inability to show emotions on his borrowed face, it had still been there. And now it wasn't. It took them leaving for Dean to be able to see them.

And his eyes. Cas rarely blinked, angels never feeling the need to, and Cas barely indulged. But now they were closed, those cold, brilliantly blue eyes hidden.

Dean fought the urge to open them himself. He knew what lay beyond there wouldn't help.

He clenched his jaw as he sat on the clinical chair beside the bed. He was hyper aware of his own breathing, as there was little other noise to be heard.

He didn't know what to do.

Because what could be done?

This was up to Cas.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth, bringing a fist up to his mouth, his vision swimming slightly. Then he brought it down, his hand grasping for Cas, but not quite getting there, stopping short, landing an inch from the man's hand.

"Cas-" He choked out, unsure what to say. His fingers twitched, reaching closer, trying to close the distance.

"Dean?"

Sam entered the room, and the elder Winchester snapped back, swallowing hard, turning to look at his brother.

"Yeah?" He spoke, his voice gruff and hoarse, his throat aching.

"How's he doing?"

Dean frowned at the stupidity of the question. "How does it look?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I get it." He walked over to the other side of the bed, reaching down and giving the man's shoulder a squeeze. "Hang in there, Cas."

Dean looked at his brother, watching how easily he was able to make contact. He felt a surge of... something, inside him. Jealousy? Anger?

"I need a coffee." He barked, jumping up and practically charging out of the door, leaving Sam with Cas.

He walked down the corridor, barging past orderlies and Doctors, ignoring everything.

He stopped when he saw a coffee machine, and he took out his wallet, scrambling for some change, but his hands were shaking too much, and coins scattered on the floor.

"Crap!" He yelled, far too loud, and kicked the coffee machine, slapping it with his hand for good measure.

He span away from it, the sight of it antagonising him, before charging down the corridor, away from the direction he had come from. He passed three more coffee machines, ignoring them all.

The more he walked, the worse it got. What had just been seething, burning rage, turned physical. He felt like he couldn't breathe, air not getting into his lungs fast enough, yet his lungs felt full to burst as air scraped down his throat. He felt too hot and too cold, he felt confined in the white wash walls of the hospital, crammed in by everything, and he felt miniscule, like an ant ready to be crushed by a boot.

He saw a door leading out and shoved it open, finding himself in a small garden designed to cheer up the patients and visitors, but was clearly just used as a smoking area. But the fresh air felt good, and he frantically went through, scrambling as he went, until he dropped to the floor, cramming himself into a corner and put his hands over his head, and his head to his knees.

His breath was coming harsher now, through gritted teeth, fast and hard and a choked sound left his throat, and another, and another.

It took him a while to notice his face was wet, the soggy puddles on the rough denim of his knees, but he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop himself crying, he couldn't stop the choking sobbing escaping him.

Everything he'd held in for the past... well, who knows how long, was coming out. And he couldn't stop it.

"Dean?"

A hand clapped onto his shoulder, and he jerked away from it. He looked up to see his brother crouched over him, and he tried to pull away, tried to stop crying, but instead found himself pulled in as Sam put his arms around him and held him tight.

Just held him.

After Dean had calmed down just enough, Sam spoke.

"You scared some nurses."

"I don't care." Dean spat.

Sam chuckled, letting go of his brother, but staying close. He didn't say anything, just waited for Dean.

"I don't think I can, Sammy," Dean told him. "Go back in there. Do anything. Carry on." He inhaled sharply. "It's too much."

"It's always too much." Sam reminded him gently.

"Yeah, and this is different." Dean sighed. "We have lost... everything. And we get back... Cas comes back, and we lose him again."

"We haven't lost him!"

"His first thing he's gonna do as a human is die, Sam! I can't, I can't let-"

"No." Sam spoke firmly. "He's not gonna die. You're not gonna let him." He gripped Dean's shoulder tight. "I'm not asking you to carry on, I'm not saying you have to go out there and kill monsters, I'm not even saying you have to cope. I'm saying you gotta be there for Cas." He held on a little tighter. "Cos you are gonna be the only one who can help him. You're the only one that counts."

Dean swallowed hard. "What if he never wakes up?"

Sam didn't say anything. He couldn't.

It scared him, the thought of what it would do to Dean. He didn't see how is brother could cope after that. But right now, he had to be the strong one. He had to push Dean through this.

"We should get back." Sam said, squeezing Dean's shoulder before offering him a hand to help him up.


	38. Chapter 38

Dean had eventually gone back to Cas's room, accompanied by Sam. He alternated between being unable to keep his eyes off the comatose man, to being unable to even look at him.

It took him a few hours, but he finally fell asleep. Dean had, after all his restless shifting, somehow ended up reclining back in the uncomfortable hospital chair with his feet on the bed, an inch away from Cas's own legs.

Sam left a note for his brother in case he woke up before leaving the room and walking to the car. As much as he needed to be strong for his brother, the sight of his friend laying like that on the bed, motionless, in a state of personal purgatory... it was hard to take.

He might not have been Sam's angel, he might not have had the profound bond that his brother had with the guy, but he still loved him. They were still friends.

He sighed, popping the hood of the car and digging around. He picked up a few books, including John's old journal for good measure, and grabbed his laptop, throwing it all into a bag. He shut the trunk with a slam, hoisting the bag over his shoulder, and looked down in slight confusion as his stomach growled. He'd forgotten to eat, what with everything that had happened that day. He noted that it had been even longer since Dean had eaten. Glancing briefly at his watch, he could tell he hadn't been gone that long, so he headed for the hospital cafeteria, charming a member of staff to sell him some food with his lovely smile and probably far too large a bribe.

He got back up to the room, finding Dean still asleep. He'd shifted slightly; one leg had fallen off the bed, and his body had slumped to the left. If he slept too long like that, he'd wake up with a sore neck. But Sam wasn't gonna wake him – his brother needed to sleep off the day, to get some small measure of peace.

Sam crept back in, placing the books on the bed, and his laptop too.

He didn't quite know what he was looking for. He knew there wasn't much of anything about angels in the stash of books they had, even less in the journal, and the internet's wealth of information on angels had a lot of junk to sift through before there was anything even minutely helpful.

He didn't consider waking his brother. The sleep would do him good.

~

Dean didn't wake up until it was nearing seven in the morning. Sam had been keeping a wary eye on him throughout; over the years of travelling with his brother, he had become well acquainted with Dean's nightmares, how to tell when he was having them, and when they were especially bad.

These didn't seem too bad. He was twitching, he was muttering, he was saying Cas's name. It wasn't unlike the dreams he had when Cas first left, when he had first let loose the Leviathan's and vanished under the water. They weren't as bad as the nightmares that Dean had when had first returned from hell, the ones that he'd wake up from screaming, but Sam had an inkling that Cas had helped to soothe those.

Sam was on the verge of waking him; Dean's breathing was coming faster and his face was contorted and twisted in what was obviously fear. His fingers were twitching, grasping for something, and his stuttered moans reached a crescendo when he woke with a start, yelling out Castiel's name, looking around frantically.

"It's alright, he's not going anywhere." Sam reassured him as Dean grasped the man's hand tightly, letting out a long breath.

"I dreamt-" Dean began, before shaking his head. "Never mind." He stared at the closed eyes, as if by sheer willpower he could wake him up.

Not that he hadn't already tried that.

He turned to Sam, letting go of the unresponsive hand. "What's all that?" He asked, not trying to hide the disinterest in his voice.

"Thought there might be something in there to help Cas. Faith healers, rituals, magic, unicorn blood, anything." He reeled off in a list.

"Unicorn blood?" Dean repeated blearily, blinking heavily.

"Never mind." Sam shrugged. "Just thought it couldn't hurt."

Dean sighed, wiping his hands over his face before leaning over and grabbing the nearest book, flipping it open.

"Whatever you say." He sighed.

~

They spent the next few hours flicking through books, but both hit the same problem.

There was a Mayan spell that could restart a stopped heart. But Cas's heart was still beating.

There was a Celtic rock that when placed in the mouth could cure the person of any poison. But Cas hadn't been poisoned.

There was a mythical thread that when sewn into a wound could heal it, however bad. But Cas didn't have an open wound.

There weren't any spells, artefacts, anything to wake a comatose person.

"You could try true love's kiss." Sam joked after delving into some fairytales, and Dean glared over the top of his book at his brother.

"And who d'ya suppose is Cas's true love?"

Sam shrugged a little too nonchalantly. "Well, if it were anyone..."

Dean blinked. "What's that meant to mean."

Sam coughed. "Profound bond?"

"You're crazy." Dean scoffed angrily. "No freaking way."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Sam shrugged.

"He's an angel. And a he!"

Sam frowned at Dean's indignancy. "yeah, but..." The younger Winchester sighed, lowering his laptop lid. "He's given everything for you. Multiple times. He clearly feels strongly for you, one way or another."

"I can't believe you're actually suggesting this!" Dean cried.

"I'm just exploring all possible options!" Sam replied.

"Well, that option is not being explored. No exploring is going to happen."

"Fine." Sam shrugged.

"Fine!" Dean bit back, huffing back behind his book.

They stayed a few minutes in uncomfortable silence, neither speaking, before Sam grabbed his phone and left the room, claiming he had to make some calls.

Dean continued to pore over his book, glancing up occasionally to look at Cas. Each time his gaze stayed a little longer, shifting away guiltily each time until he snapped.

"I aint doing it!" He told him firmly. "Kissing you. I'm not."

Cas did nothing.

"That crap's for fairy tales. It wouldn't work."

No response.

"No, it wouldn't." Dean confirmed to himself. He exhaled firmly, looking back at the book, but his eyes wantonly drifted back to Cas.

He steeled himself, glancing around to check that absolutely no-one was around.

He stood up, stooping over the bed, placing a hand on the angel's shoulder. He leant in, eyes still watching, pausing a few inches away.

"Don't... don't tell anyone." He commanded.

The man remained lifelessly unmoving underneath him.

He was uncomfortably close to Cas, close enough to see the pores of his skin, the faint, purple shadows beneath his eyes, the dry chap of his lips. He'd been this distance from the angel many times before, Cas having little concept of personal space, but this was different. This was Dean invading.

He closed his eyes. He wasn't doing this if he could see. He couldn't pretend it was some large-breasted, blonde haired, nameless girl if he could see the stubbly male beneath him.

Inhaling sharply, he closed the distance, placing his lips on the man. As hard as he tried to keep the woman in his mind's eye, it didn't work; the visage slipped as skin met skin, and he was acutely aware that it was Cas that he was kissing, it was Cas's dry lips scraping against his, it was Cas's even, slow breaths that tickled his skin, and it was Cas's soft graze of stubble against his own.

It wasn't quite as bad as he had expected.

Except it was worse, much worse. Because, other than the soft breathing, no sign of life occurred.

There was no sharp intake of breath as life returned to the comatose body, there was no sudden hand pushing him away, or pulling him in deeper. Nothing.

Dean snapped back, taking a step away from the bed, tracing his fingertips over his lips.

"That was never gonna work." He muttered gruffly.

He looked down at the man on the bed, lying there as if nothing had happened.

Dean inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw, eyes watering and emotion surging. "Wake up, damnit!" He yelled, punctuating his command with a kick to the bed.

"Dean!" Sam yelled from the doorway, drawing the elder Winchester's attention towards him.

Dean inhaled, his face that of steely composure once again. "How long you been there?"

Sam shrugged. "Long enough to see you kicking the furniture."

"Well, I figured we hadn't tried yelling at him yet." Dean huffed, sitting down.

"Sure." Sam replied, walking in, pushing past the awkward moment. "Whatever. So I tried calling Kadinsky-"

"Who?"

"His card is in the journal, he runs a taxidermy shop." Sam shrugged. "I asked him if he knew any legit faith healers."

"Faith H-, you kidding me?"

"It was worth a try. The answer was no, for the record."

"Of course it was." Dean folded his arms.

"So I called Missouri."

"Missouri?" Dean blinked. "Wow, we haven't heard from her in what... six, seven years?"

"Yeah, she mentioned that." Sam smirked.

"So what'd she say?"

"She's coming over. She says angels aren't really her thing, but she'll have a look."

Dean exhaled, leaning back. "That's a good idea."

~

They spent the next couple of hours researching. Or, at least, trying to. Dean was so agitated by the prospect of a chance that he couldn't sit still, until Sam snapped at him to sit down at shut up; she'd get there when she got there.

And she did. She had hopped on the first plane out and took a taxi from the airport. Sam met her downstairs, greeting her with a wide hug.

"Missouri!" Sam cried as he wrapped his arms around the tiny woman, completely swamping her despite her girth.

"Ah, Sammy; it's good to see you too." She smiled, before pulling away and holding him at arm's length. "Let me look at you." She surveyed him, peering up." You've grown again! Somehow you're even taller than before... and you've got muscles now."

Sam laughed.

"Oh, boy, what have you done to your hair? Those sideburns are just gonna eat up your face."

Sam winced, shrugging awkwardly. "Shall we get going?"

"Sure." She smiled, brushing past him and leading the way, instinct and intuition taking her.

"So, are you boys allergic to calling, or what?" She demanded.

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Six years, Sam; not one phone call."

"We've been busy." Sam said lamely.

"I know all about it, I've been told." She said simply, referring to her special skills. "Would've been nice to hear from you, though."

"Well-"

"And going to Pamela?" She questioned indignantly. "Going to another psychic." She sighed.

"Well, you shouldn't feel too jealous about that one."

"Yes, I do enjoy my eyes." She retorted. "Poor girl." She sighed, walking straight into the room with no instruction from Sam. She stopped as she entered the room, placing a hand sympathetically over her heart as she saw Dean, who stood up in greeting.

"Hey, Missouri." He smiled.

"Oh, Dean!" She cried, charging towards the hunter and wrapping him in a hug. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Dean awkwardly patted her on the back, unused to embraces, before pulling away, surprised to see tears in the psychic's eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

She wiped her eyes. "All the better for seeing you two again, but it's you I'm worried about."

Dean swallowed, and disentangled himself from her, turning around and standing by the window. "Don't worry about us, it's Cas you're here for."

"Yes, I suppose I am." She sighed, turning her attention to the comatose man in the bed. "Oh my."

"What?" Sam and Dean question in unison.

"You weren't kidding when you said you had an angel, were you? You sure got someone special here."

"Yeah, we know." Sam smiled.

"I don't know if he's an angel anymore." Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, he's missing something." Missouri walked over, peering at the body. "Hello, Castiel."

"His mojo?" Dean asked.

"His grace?" Sam rephrased.

"Something like that." She agreed, plonking herself down in the seat that Dean had been occupying before, and took Cas's hand. "Can one of you boys get me a tea?" She requested, not looking around.

Dean looked expectantly to his brother. No way was he leaving.

Sam sighed and conceded, leaving the room.

Missouri sighed. "No, of course kissing him wouldn't've worked." She told Dean.

He blinked. You couldn't hide much around a psychic.

"It was a long shot." Dean grumbled.

"Your heart was in the right place." She told him, glancing briefly at Dean with a sympathetic smile. "But you don't want to hear that."

"I'd rather just forget it happened." He huffed.

"I'm sure you would." She replied knowingly. Dean turned away, looking out the window, ignoring what was happening, which was, admittedly, not a lot.

A minute later Sam was back, handing the Styrofoam cup to Missouri.

"Thanks." She smiled.

"So?" Sam asked. "Anything?"

"There's nothing I can do." She sighed, leaning back and taking a sip of tea.

"Nothing?" Dean repeated.

"Nothing anyone can do, really." She told him. "It's all up to Castiel whether he wakes up."

"You mean he's got to decide?"

"Don't be a fool." She scolded. "He's healing, he's growing. It's a lot to take. You don't ask a caterpillar if it wants to be a butterfly."

"So he'll wake up?" Dean asked anxiously. "Is that what you're saying?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know the answer, honey; it's one tough cocoon to break out of."

~

Missouri didn't stay long. She had clients to see and an exorcism to perform, and she really couldn't do anything for Cas.

"It was an honour to meet you, Castiel." Missouri said as she stood up, squeezing the angel's hand.

Sam offered to recompense her for the travel, but she reassured him that one of the perks of being a psychic was being a dab-hand at scratch cards.

She hugged them both tight as she left, and scolded them once more for their inability to stay in touch. And then she left them, in much the same state as they were before. Team Free Will: one ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr comatose.


	39. Chapter 39

The research got slower after Missouri left; hope for some Supernatural cure got dimmer. There had been a lot of hope riding on Missouri, but after instructions that had been little more than "wait it out", they weren't quite sure how to deal.

After two days in the hospital, Dean had to make a very quick run to the car to smuggle in some whiskey. Despite the difficulty he had in tearing himself away, the second he got outside the need to run hit him. He itched to leave, to drive far away, leave all this behind; his brother and his angel, leave everything behind that was too much for the emotionally stunted hunter to deal with. But despite his urge to run, the urge to run back was stronger, to return to the bedside of his friend to wait for something that may never come.

So he filled up his flask and he returned. Sam didn't say anything, not even when he took the first sip. Now wasn't the time to readdress Dean's problem.

Afternoon drew into evening and evening into night. And eventually, for lack of anything better to do, the Winchesters fell asleep.

Sam woke up at about six, launching into protective mode instantly when he sensed there was a foreign presence in the room. He reached for the gun in the waistband of his jeans, but calmed down when he realised it was just a nurse.

"Sorry!" She whispered with an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to wake y'all!"

"No, it's okay." He told her, wiping his eyes of sleep. "How's he looking?"

"Same as ever." She told him, practically singing with her southern lilt. "No worse, though."

"Well, that's good." He said.

She smiled at him, putting her hands on her hips, and Sam took a proper look at her. She was petite, slim, though covered up with some green scrubs, and she had a big smile with twinkling brown eyes. Her dark hair was scooped up into a sloppy bun, and a few dark hairs straggled down.

"Hi." Sam shook his head, clearing the remnants of sleep fog that were still cloying his brain and gave her his best smile. "I'm Sam."

"Betty." She seemed to smile even wider at him. "FBI, right?"

When the boys had first come to the hospital, they had flashed one of their many badges at the hospital staff, giving them the freedom to stay past visiting hours, but Sam was becoming aware that they were pushing their luck. The staff were talking, and were certainly aware of Dean's occasional outbursts.

Sam put his business face back on, his smile dropping a little as he straightened up. "I can't really talk about it." He told her.

"Oh, 'course." She brushed off. She looked down at Cas on the bed. "So how do you know Castiel Singer?" She asked.

"He's our cousin."

"Really?" She asked incredulously. "I don't buy that for a second. Not the way your brother there looks at him."

Sam glanced to Dean who was fast asleep, snoring ever so slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe it ain't my place to say, but he sure does seem awful fond of him..."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, maybe."

She sighed, looking down at the comatose man and back to Sam. "Sammy, do you want a word of advice?"

He tensed, wary. "What?"

"Go home." She shrugged. "Get into a decent bed, get some air. We got visiting hours for a reason, and it ain't always for the patient."

Sam relaxed. "Yeah, maybe." He leant back, looking at his sleeping brother.

Betty smiled. "Okay." She picked up her things. "I'll leave you to it."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam smiled, watching her as she turned and walked out with a pleasant sway to the hips.

The smile lingered on Sam's lips after she left. He always felt smug when a woman chose to spend her attentions on him instead of his brother when given the choice; it was a fairly rare occurrence.

It didn't hurt that Dean was fast asleep and snoring.

And that she thought Dean was harbouring latent homosexual urges to the comatose man in the bed? That was a theory that Sam certainly couldn't deny, not after what he'd seen Dean doing the day before.

Sam sighed, looking towards his brother. Of course there'd been jokes on the topic before, there'd been pointed remarks by people as to their feelings for each other, not to mention the fact that they seemed to be in a perpetual staring contest with one another.

But Sam had never considered the possibility seriously...

Dean had always been into women. Sam knew he had no chance of counting all the women on his fingers and toes combined.

And there was Lisa, Dean's most, and only, serious relationship to date. He knew he had loved her.

Dean had always been aggressively straight.

That certainly wasn't convincing Sam, though. He'd met plenty of people in his time, and he knew that sometimes the people most surprised when they developed unexpected feelings were the people themselves.

All Sam knew in regards to the matter was that he just didn't know. And that he didn't care. He loved his big brother through thick and thin; being gay wouldn't even register on the list of thing Dean had done in his time.

~

Dean woke not long after. Sam decided to wake him this time; his nightmare seemed worse than the day before. Again he called out Cas's name as he woke. However, today he almost punched Sam in the jaw for his efforts.

Sam got them some breakfast from the cafeteria downstairs while Dean took a large gulp from the flask.

Dean pulled out his phone and checked his messages. There was one from Jody, checking up on them, but Dean didn't reply. He played lazily with his phone, idly pressing through the menu buttons without much purpose, before hitting the contact list.

There weren't many people listed in there. They changed phones so often it was hard to keep track. And he rarely scrolled through the names; usually just typing worked faster.

He paused when he saw a familiar name. Bobby. God, Dean missed him. He'd always been a constant presence in their lives, a second Dad while they were growing up, and even more so when John died.

He wished he could call him now, ask him what to do. Bobby would know. Either that or he'd give Dean the kick up the ass he knew he needed.

Accidentally on purpose, his thumb hit the call button. Lifting it up to his ear, he heard it go straight to answer phone.

"This is Bobby Singer's phone. You should not have this number."

Dean gave a small smile, and the phone beeped, telling him to leave his message. He hung up, and returned his watchful gaze to the man in the bed, planning his next move.


	40. Chapter 40

Dean's hope seemed to be splitting in two.

One half of him was strong. One half believed completely and wholly that Cas would wake up and return to him, strong and resolute, the best friend that he ever had.

But the other was wavering. The other nagged in the background, repeating the words of others, the times that people had said that Cas would never wake up, that he was as good as dead. That he'd never be the same again.

That he was gone.

And that half was getting stronger. He tried to fight it, tried to swallow down his fears, to keep fighting and stay strong like every other damn day of his life, but each time that he looked back at Cas, at the deathly-still body in the bed, his resolve got weaker and weaker.

He tried to distract himself by putting on the TV that was on the wall opposite the bed. It was early afternoon by this point, so all there was on was crappy daytime TV, which Dean, admittedly, had grown a soft spot for.

Doctor Sexy MD was on, a show that he had not grown any less fond of, despite the time that he spent in it. The main plotline of the episode was about a comatose man, and about Doctor Sexy's extremely melodramatic grieving over the death of his back-from-the-grave friend. Dean watched for a few minutes, but found pretty quickly that everything reminded him of real life. He changed channels, flicking through until he decided on a Spanish soap-opera. He couldn't understand what was happening, but he began to make up stories in his head of what was happening, about how the married chick with the huge breasts was having an affair with her friend the secretary with the nice ass.

Sam had been gone for a while. He knew he wasn't far; Sam hadn't left him to travel any distance further than the car since they'd been there. At one point Dean leaned back in his chair and craned his neck to look out of the window in the hallway, and saw his brother talking to a nurse, or something. Even from this distance Dean could tell she was pretty.

Dean's mind started to drift back to Cas. For the millionth time, he went through their resources, their guns, their hunting equipment, their friends, their connections, their powers.

He was drawing a blank. Again. They had nothing that would help.

His brain still kept trying, though; throwing up old names of aged contacts, hunters and civilians, even Supernatural creatures that they didn't part on the worst of terms with.

And then it struck him. A name that hadn't occurred to him, though surely it would be an obvious choice. A perhaps useless contact, verging on dangerous, but ultimately their last chance.

With a glance to Cas, and a camaraderic squeeze of his wrist, he left the room, brushing past Sam, who turned round.

"Dean?" He called after him, smiling apologetically to Betty before chasing his brother. "Where are you going?"

"The car." Dean spat back.

"Okay..." Sam replied, easily keeping up with his brothers fast, hurried strides. "Why?"

"Supply run." He told him. "We're doing a summoning."

"Summoning?" Sam questioned. "Who are we summoning?"

"Balthazar."

Sam halted, putting a hand on his brothers shoulder and swinging him around, halting him. "Balthazar? Are you kidding me?"

"It's obvious, Sam; I'll bet he's the only one who knows how to wake him up. He's the one who put him there!"

"Yeah, Dean; exactly! We also shot his daughter through the chest with an arrow. He'll kill us if we summon him."

"Don't care." Dean shrugged him off, continuing his march to the car. "He knows how to wake Cas up. We're calling him."

By now they were in the foyer and rapidly approaching the doors to the car park.

"Dean!"

Dean span round, looking furiously at his brother. "He is our only shot right now."

"No, we have other options." Sam told him.

"What, Sam? Tell me what those options are, cos I'm not seeing them!" He walked backwards through the doors, not taking his eyes off of his brother as they moved into the car park.

"We wait. Like everyone has told us to. He might wake up on his own."

"Might?" Dean yelled. "Are we putting everything on might? Cos that sounds like a hell of a chance of him dying instead!" He reached the car and flung the trunk open, delving inside to find the ingredients he needed. "We're doing this." He told him as he picked up a knife, using it to gesture at his brother. "You can either help, or go back to your chew toy nurse."

Sam clenched his jaw, watching his brother as he rummaged, weighing up the pros and cons. He saw the danger, all the risks of calling the angel for help, but what he also saw was his big brother rummaging desperately in the trunk of their car, desperately looking for hope.

"We'll need the oil."

~

They drew the curtains in the room and locked the door, making sure no-one could get in. If the staff thought it was weird that the boys were staying here 24/7, then being caught doing blood rituals with pentagrams wasn't going to help.

"You sure about this?" Sam asked, glancing over at his brother.

Dean turned to him, giving him a stony look. He looked round, behind him, to where the comatose man lay in the bed, unresponsive to all that was happening. He lit the match. "What do you think?"

Dean got ready to drop the match, fingers tightening in preparation to release, to call upon the angel that might kill them before helping, when a voice stopped them, calling out from behind, a voice that had no right to be here in this room.

"Well, well, well." The gruff voice spoke, and the boys span to look at the man sitting beside the bed. "What do we have here?"

"Crowley." Dean spat, and Sam's hand went instantly to the demon blade that he knew was in the waistband of his jeans. The king of Hell smiled at the two of them as if they were nothing more than children, before looking down at Castiel in the bed.

"The dream team lives." He sighs. "Sort of. When am I going to be done with you lot?"

Dean cursed inwardly, thinking how stupid it was that he hadn't bothered putting down any demon traps. Rookie error, completely. But it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Get out of here."

"But I just arrived!" Crowley laughed, spreading his hands as he stood. "How long has our friend been back?"

Sam glanced to Dean as he pulled out the blade. "Not long."

"You should've called. I wanted to pay my respects." Crowley looked back down to the angel. "I'll take him off your hands, gladly."

"Get away from him." Dean surged forwards, only to, unexpectedly, be held back from behind. He glanced round, finding his face uncomfortably close to a pair of black eyes. They belonged to the pretty nurse that Sam had been flirting with. She caught Sam's arm too as he swept to slash her throat, and disarmed him with ease.

"Told you you shoulda gone home." Betty smiled at Sam, her eyes turning back to the brown that they had been before. She grabbed Sam's head, forcing it back, and held the knife to his throat, ready to slit and a seconds notice.

Crowley smirked. "What's it going to be, Dean?" He asked. "The Moose or the angel?"

Dean froze, his eyes flicking back and forth to his brother and Cas. The demon pressed in the knife a little bit, drawing blood across the thin flesh that covered Sam's throat while Crowley leant over Cas, peering at him, almost clinically. If Dean had seen the way that Crowley had examined the monsters, the alpha's, it might have brought forth parallels.

A heat was rising in Dean, uncomfortable and he was unable to get away from it as his hunters instincts flatlined, leading only to a dull, dehabilitating panic inside of him. He couldn't get to Sam without leaving Cas open for Crowley, and he couldn't push Crowley out of the way without preventing the demon from slashing Sam's throat. He was in a stalemate and he couldn't fix it as the heat rose to an uncomfortable level, until the heat hit pain.

Pain.

The heat wasn't everywhere. It was somewhere. Dean glanced down at his fingers, seeing the lit match still in his hands, burnt down to where his fingers held on to it tightly.

He didn't choose Sam.

He didn't choose Cas.

He chose survival, dropping the match into the bowl and finished summoning the angel that would want Crowley dead as much as he did.


	41. Chapter 41

Crowley's eyes widened, only the surprise of Dean's unexpected actions preventing him from snuffing it out before it hit the pan.

His instinct was to shove the dish away, fling it against the wall and shatter it, destroy the summoning. But he knew it was too late. An angel was on its way and no amount of domestic vandalism would halt that.

Inwardly he cursed the boys and all they stood for. But on his face he plastered a sneer.

"Well, boys; seems like you had an ace up your sleeve." He commented, eyes glancing around for the angel. He knew it was only a matter of time before the feathery bastard appeared, and he weighed up his options. He could run, wink out before the halo-wearing dick showed up, feeling all smitey; or he could stick it out, stand toe-to-toe and stand his ground, and see if he could shove an angel-blade up a jugular while whisking out the prize. "An angel on the way, not bad. I'm flattered."

"Think fast." Dean snarked, throwing the bowl at Crowley who, on instinct, reached up to catch up, eyes widening in surprise. Sam felt the demon behind him flinch, reacting briefly to the distraction and taking his chance, swung his shoulder up and dislodging the blade. Spinning round he caught the demon by the neck and forced her back against the wall, stabbing her deep in the abdomen and watched the light in her eyes flash out, the spark of life the demon had left in it leaving the sorry vessel. The brunette crumpled to the floor and Sam span away.

Crowley barely blinked, so used to his demons being so easily overpowered by the Winchesters that he'd taken the precaution of giving the job to one who he didn't particularly like; it had screwed up a particularly simple serial killing just a few months back. Shrugging it off, he smiled. "Well done, boys; you took down one." He chuckled, glancing behind him. "Try the fifty others I called in." He smirked at them. "Do let me know how you get on with those."

"I'll make sure to send a postcard." A voice rang out from behind them, and the boys span to the source of the voice, the English accent evident immediately. "Or... I could just kill you now."

"My my, bringing back all the old dogs now, aren't we?" Crowley smiled in a grimace at Balthazar, who sat perched on the chair beside Cas's bed. "Just two days ago I thought heaven was deserted of all the real players, and yet here we are!"

Dean and Sam looked to each other, giving one another barely perceptible shrugs as they individually tried to think of a way out. Surely now would be the ideal time to make a break for it, while the two of the most powerful creatures around were busy snarking at each other.

"Well, the vacation is over" Balthazar closed the distance, towering over the short demon. "It's time to put you back in your place."

"Quite a plan... it really is. Bulletproof." Crowley told him. "I'm sure that'll work marvellously for you... if you think you can get through my staff."

Balthazar chuckled, almost taken aback. "Crowley, darling; I'm an angel. You really think a thousand could have the power to stop me?"

"Maybe not you." He agreed. "But, I'm sure they have a shot at dispensing with the cattle behind you." He flashed his teeth in a grin to the angel. "And don't bother trying to zap the lot of you out; I've angel-proofed the place." He looked to the Winchesters, who had been, as subtly as possible, trying to unplug Castiel from everything connecting him to the hospital; they were sure that it wasn't the life support machine that was keeping the angel here.

"This should be interesting." Balthazar smirked.

"Carry him as much as you like," Crowley said. "You'll be lucky if you reach the gift shop."

He reached for the door and flung it open, holding it with a foot as he projected his voice into the hallway. "Dinnertime!"


	42. Chapter 42

Sam's hand clenched around Ruby's knife.

Dean's hand clenched around the angel blade.

Balthazar stood in front of them, a smile on his face. At least he could see what he was fighting.

Crowley blinked out, apparently unaffected by the angel proofing he had put on the place.

"What we got?" Dean barked out, looking at, from what his eyes could tell, anyway, the empty room.

"Three hounds at the door, and a hospital completely full of demons." Balthazar told him, lifting his own blade.

"Great." Sam said.

"You're going to have to be our eyes here, Balthazar." Dean called out, and the angel rolled his own.

"Seriously? Just kill anyone who tries to kill you. Easy."

"Helpful," Dean huffed. "The hell hounds?"

"Guarding the door."

"And how do we get past?" Sam said.

"2 o'clock, Dean." Balthazar instructed.

"What?!"

The angel threw his blade towards the door, and it caught in midair, suspended in nothing, as it appeared to the boys. While it wobbled and flailed, and black splashed to the floor, Balthazar descended, a hand outstretched, and the boys looked away as the room went bright. Dean focused instead on his own knife, aiming slightly to his right as the angel had instructed, and slashed the air. It met resistance, and he dug in, shoving and gouging as his brother came to the side and used his own knife on the air, stabbing at what he supposed was the torso.

"Next!" Balthazar called.

"Demons?" Sam asked, but Balthazar didn't answer, deeming it unnecessary as black-eyed meat suits began to make their way into the room. Leading the group of at least a dozen was a surgeon, mask pulled down under his chin, blood splatters on his gown, and a scalpel in his hand.

Sam and Dean both stepped forwards, towards the crowd of Doctors, Nurses, and patients trying to get in the room. Keeping them away from the bed was bullet point one.

"I think you boys can handle these?" Balthazar called back, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"In my sleep." Dean grunted, spinning the blade in his hand and stabbing it straight into the gut of an elderly nurse with a large saw in her hand. He slashed up, feeling her go limp under him before throwing her to the floor, the light flashing out of her eyes. Balthazar began to smite, but with so many demons at once, and all prepared to fight, he found himself swamped; the preferred method of palm-to-forehead-burn-out too slow when only one, or possibly two can be done at a time. Dean fell back, staying close to Castiel, while Sam stepped forward, attacking any that made it past Balthazar, while Dean took the rest.

And it worked, to a certain extent. Between the three of them they were killing a lot of demons, and none would make it past the three of them to the comatose man on the bed, but more kept coming, with apparently no end in sight. With the near constant flood, they couldn't even move from the room, could make no form of advance through the narrow door.

Sam looked back and Dean briefly and they exchanged a look, contemplating just that. They needed to get out of the hospital. Two managed to get past Sam during this slight distraction, and Dean stabbed one in the jugular and body tackled the other, flooring the cute intern from paediatrics. He got pulled down with her as she clawed at him, and he barely had time to whip the blade from the first demon and slit this one's throat.

"Balthazar?" Sam called. The angel didn't turn round, smiting a demon with one hand and slamming his blade into the belly of another.

"I'm a little busy right now, darling." He replied, completely oblivious to the blood splatter that sprayed across his suit.

"We need to get out of here." The younger Winchester yelled over.

"Very astute observation, however there's a bit of traffic, if you hadn't noticed." He kicked a stray corpse across the floor, getting tangled in the mass that was now there.

"We could make a barricade out of that lot." Dean suggested as he took down another. He felt himself taking another step back towards the bed, noticing that the gap between him and the back wall was getting a little too small for comfort.

However, being at the back, and behind two very competent fighters, he was the most available to try different methods, other than pure hand to hand combat.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Dean yelled out, as fast as he could muster. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio ."

The demons paused to look as he continued, and all suddenly decided to go solely after Dean, rather than fight down the two blocking the path. Sam and Balthazar still took out several while Dean continued, slaying three demons in the next sentence.

"infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et sectra diaolica," he yelled out, making sure it could reach as many demons as possible, remembering how Sam and he got out of a similar situation a few years ago. "Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adj-"

He stopped when a demon shouldered him in the chest, flinging him back, knocking the air from his lungs and the words from his mouth.

"DEAN!" Sam called out, and his brother motioned as best as he could as he stabbed the demon for him to continue the chant.

"Adjuramus te. Cassa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque," Sam paused to trip a demon pushing past him, getting knocked back a few steps, his legs hitting the bed frame. " eisque aeternae perditionis venenum propinare."

"Balthazar!" Dean called from across the room. He had now been forced back around the side of the bed, and was trying to ignore the sight of Castiel in his peripheral vision. Sam continued chanting. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

A teenage boy had managed to get a proper hit on Sam by this time, grazing his cheek with a scalpel, and stabbing it deep into his shoulder. He cried out, rolling his shoulder back and stumbling. Dean picked up the latin.

Balthazar smited two more in front of him, managing to gain some headway and stepping forwards, though one pushed around him, a little girl who reminded Dean a little too much of Lilith. He groaned and dispatched of her, barely flinching in his latin.

"Libera nos, Domine. Ut Acclesiam tuam," Dean recited, nearly at the end. He could see the demons struggling now, their eyes turning black and their movements becoming more desperate. Fortunately, desperate meant careless, making them far easier to finish off. Balthazar slammed the head of a pensioner against the door frame before burning him out.

"I left my grenades at home." Balthazar spat back.

"Secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus," Dean inhaled in anticipation, the demons frantically trying to get some last seconds wounds in. "Audi nos."

The demons stopped, and the familiar sight of black smoke escaping from bodies appeared, dozens at once being sent back to hell as they got sucked through the floor. The meat suits crumpled shortly after, none remaining upright; whether unconscious or dead, it was impossible to tell.

"How many more?" Sam asked, clutching his shoulder.

"Hundreds." Balthazar stated.

Dean reached for Cas, loosely holding his wrist. The adrenaline had taken over during the fight, squashing down any emotion, all panic that he'd had over the last few days, and he wasn't going to allow it to bubble back up during the lull. He allowed himself this brief interaction, fingers closing over the pulse, checking, just checking, a small reassurance that Cas was still with them.

"What next?"


	43. Chapter 43

All too aware that the next wave of demons would be rapidly approaching, they made their plans quickly.

"How many outside?" Dean asked Balthazar as he threw back the bed sheets and began to pick Castiel up. His voice rang out in the quiet of the room, so silent after what had just happened. The only remaining angel was admiring his handiwork; a blood sigil on the wall that repelled demons. The room was safe.

"At least twenty. Most are at the doors." The angel replied.

"Perfect." Dean grunted as he hefted Cas into a fireman's lift. "We'll fight our way through."

"Two floors up, supply cupboard." Sam reminded Balthazar. "Everything you need for a bomb."

"Yes, I hadn't forgotten." Balthazar agreed distractedly, clearly listening.

"Coast clear?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Go." Sam told him, and Balthazar left, kicking through the pile of corpses at his feet. The coast was certainly clear; the hallway was void of demons, the only signs of life that of the fish in the aquarium. He had expected some stragglers, and considered the possibility that the demons had heard them talking, were waiting for them at the doors, at the supply cupboard.

~

Sam pushed the covers from the bed, grabbing the mattress and taking it to the window, glancing outside.

"See anything?" Dean whispered, peering over whilst regaining his support, careful of the unconscious body slung over his shoulder.

"No." Sam said. "Probably some hiding, but I guess they're at the front door."

~

Balthazar climbed the stairs with ease, not encountering one demon in the entire journey. None of them had dared dream it would go this smoothly. Of course, the hardest was yet to come, Balthazar knew this, they all did. He knew there would be an ambush waiting for him.

~

"Now?" Dean asked, peering out as Sam quietly opened the window.

"As good-a-time as any." He replied, beginning to feed the mattress through the window. They were a floor above ground level, and while the boys had made bigger jumps before, they couldn't risk it with a comatose body in tow. Sam shoved it, hesitating for a fraction of a second. No demons appeared. The coast was still clear.

Sam jumped first, ready to guard while Dean jumped with Cas. He had Ruby's blade clenched in his fist as he fell, and jumped up, catlike, the instant he landed. Leaping off the mattress, making room for his elder brother to take the leap, he glanced around, quickly spotting two demons in the bushes. He had been right.

He let them come to him; demons so eager to kill that they didn't bother trying to lure Sam away from the spot he was guarding. He destroyed them easily, taking out the taller one first whilst using his sheer size to keep the smaller at bay.

Dean had landed behind him, Castiel still safe on his shoulder. He readjusted the body as he straightened up, and grinned at his brother. "Demons are idiots."

~

Balthazar knew there were demons there before he saw them. Hundreds. The vast majority of the demons in the hospital had congregated here, ready to attack en masse. They had heard the boys talking about their plan, to go to the supply cupboard, to make a bomb. All it takes is one demon with good hearing to pass on the message. Crowley's fool proof plan.

They knew that the angel would be the difficult one. As infamous as the Winchesters were, they were just human. The various groups covering the doors could handle them well enough, especially whilst they were otherwise occupied defending the meat suit. The Angel, however, alone and powerful, no longer had the humans slowing him down. The hundreds of demons congregated, used logic to decide to give him clear access to a spot large enough for them to charge. One-on-one fights he could handle as if they were insects; try getting through the swarm.

There were demons hidden in the stairwell above him, ready to join the crowd, surround him. He paid them no mind, single-minded in his efforts to get to the cupboard. He didn't pause when he reached the door, pushing it open, striding through and along the corridor to the cupboard. That's when the demons became visible, appearing from behind desks and beds and corners and doors like guests at a surprise party. Some looked happy to be there. Some looked set to kill, thought it was safe to assume they all were.

"I take it you heard our little plan, then?" Balthazar asked, sensing, rather than seeing, the demons close in behind him. Completely surrounded, though a circle of a few metres around him was clear, just enough room to swing a cat.

A demon in front of him spoke. "The boys speak too loudly." He said simply. "You may as well have said it over the intercom."

"Yes, but that would've been a bit obvious. We prefer the subtle approach, generally." Balthazar smiled. "You're in my way."

"Shame that." The demon said. The vessel it was using was barely more than a child, a red-headed boy of 19 years. He'd come in for an appendectomy. Peter, his name was.

Killing demons was such an ugly business.

Balthazar pulled out the knife, ready to begin. He knew they were waiting for a signal, probably from Peter. "Shall we get this over with?" The angel growled.

The boy grinned, teeth shining. "Fine."

The demons descended.

~

The boys moved quickly to the car, taking the longer route as to avoid any demons at the doors, but reached the vehicle within a couple of minutes. Sam jumped in the front seat, starting the engine, as Dean fell into the back with Cas, landing partially on top of him and made sure all limbs were tucked inside the car before pulling the door shut. They had already started to move, the car vibrating under them, and Sam drove fast, ignoring the hospitals rules on car-park regulation and crushing a well-cared-for patch of geraniums. The birds-eye technique would avoid the demons, and it worked. Dean craned his neck, checking the hospital, and managed to glimpse a group of several dozen demons outside the exit, waiting for them. He wondered how long they'd wait.

They stopped waiting when every entrance, exit, window and crack glowed white light for a few seconds.

~

As the light died down, Balthazar looked around. Surrounded by literally hundreds of humans piled around him, he wondered how many had survived. He spared a thought for Peter, checking on him, feeling for a pulse. The angel smiled.

He also fixed his appendix while he was at it.


	44. Chapter 44

They drove for hours without stopping. They knew they had to put a good distance between them and the hospital, and they certainly weren't going back to the motel. They needed somewhere safe and secure right now, and seeing as they didn't have Bobby's, they went to the next best thing; Rufus's cabin.

The drive was quiet. Neither of them spoke much, with the exception of Dean occasionally barking at Sam to be more careful over bumps in the road and such. He had stayed in the backseat with Cas.

To begin with, the comatose man had simply been slung in with more thought for speed and convenience than for comfort and welfare. But after a few sharp turns and bad bumps, Dean moved them around. While he had been at his feet, he moved over so that he was on the right, with Cas lying on his side, legs curled under him, and the seatbelt buckled under his waist. His head lay in Dean's lap; a pillow, Dean had told himself, to protect his neck from further jolts.

Sam would occasionally glance in the mirror, checking on the two. To start with it was out of anxiety, to make sure they were both still alright, that Cas was still in one piece, and that Dean wasn't falling apart again. But as the journey went on, he would look out of curiosity; Dean's demeanour was perceptibly more and more relaxed, starting out as agitated impatience, but he gradually seemed to sooth, relaxing more into the seat, alternating between keeping an eye on Cas and watching the road out of the window. His hand was resting out Cas's right shoulder, ready to secure him if need be, ever vigilant. But like his physical presence, that soon changed too; his thumb began to stroke up and down the crisp hospital pyjamas covering his upper arm, soothing circles. Sam didn't even think that Dean noticed he was doing it. Every so often Dean would seem to jolt back into reality and check Cas's pulse, almost reflexively, as if reacting to some silent thought he had, but each time he was placated.

Eventually they reached the cabin. It was dark by this time, and Sam thought his brother might've drifted off. He actually seemed to be sleeping peacefully, no visible nightmares as far as he could tell and he regretted that he had to wake him.

"Dean." Sam called, clearing his throat, expecting Dean to jolt awake suddenly, but was surprised to find that he merely opened his eyes, somewhat blearily. "We're here."

"Finally." Dean said, looking down at the head in his lap. "I need to stretch my legs."

He carefully moved Cas, as if forgetting that he wasn't actually simply asleep, and stepped out of the car. Sam got out too, and leant on the roof of the car, looking over to his brother. "So, Crowley knows."

"Was bound to happen eventually." Dean replied, glancing down at Cas.

"Pretty bad timing." Sam pointed out. "He isn't exactly in a position to defend himself, right now."

"Yeah, well; that's what he's got us for." Dean told him as he stretched, arms high above his head, curving his spine after the long journey. His neck ached, and he rolled his head, trying to ease out the pain. It was minor compared to some of the injuries that the boys had incurred over the years, but it was still a general nuisance. "How's your shoulder?" Dean asked, nodding to the blood stain on Sam's shirt. The younger Winchester winced, and Dean nodded again. "Let's get inside and patch it up."

He tugged Cas out from the back seat, always gently, and slung him over his shoulder again. Sam watched him, watched as his brother set his jaw and began the short walk up to the front porch. Dean seemed... okay? After days of panicking and worrying and being a wreck, the showdown at the hospital seemed to have pushed him past some of it. Perhaps the adrenalin rush from the fight had kicked his brain back into gear, or getting out of the sterile hospital had cleared the cobwebs. Either way, as Dean padded up the steps, carrying the smaller man with ease, he seemed a bit more like the elder brother that Sam had always looked up to.

Cas got the bedroom, of course. Sam and Dean were so used to sleeping on couches or floors or cars that beds were generally a luxury. Far better to leave it to the guy who actually needed it right now. While Sam checked on the demon proofing, Dean climbed the stairs and put Cas into the bed, placing him down carefully, and throwing the covers back over him.

Dean could've just left him at that, but instead he took the time to rearrange him; he fluffed the pillows under his head, he pulled the sheet up, making sure to keep him warm. He even went so far as to run a hand through his hair to sort out the flat patch on the top of his head to the scruffier look that Cas usually sported.

His hand lingered in Cas's hair for a minute, teasing the strands there for a few seconds, and exhaled. Dean had tried his best to make Cas look like he was only sleeping, that he would wake up any second, but even that looked wrong. Cas never used to sleep, Cas would barely blink. Dean took a deep breath in, trailed his fingers down the man's cheek, and checked his pulse again. Still there, still beating.

When he went back downstairs, he found Sam Sitting at the table, bottle of whisky beside him and a needle and thread in his hand. Dean frowned and walked over, shaking his head.

"Let me." Dean told him, knowing from experience how much simpler it was to not have to stitch your own flesh back together. Especially at an angle like that one.

"Thanks." Sam handed the needle over, and shucked his shirt off his shoulder, giving Dean better access to the wound. Dean took a swig of whisky before pouring it onto the skin, and Sam winced.

"Baby." Dean mocked. "S'barely anything."

"I've had worse." Sam agreed.

"Won't even need 5 stitches." Dean mused. "Fight like that and you don't even have a decent wound to show for it."

"Yeah, you're right." Sam scoffed. "Next time I'll let a few get me before I take them out."

"Atta boy." Dean grinned, making the first stitch, ignoring Sam's flinch. They stayed silent for the first few stitches, Dean focusing on the task at hand. He glanced up, checking on his brother. "You did good, though."

"Hmmm?" Sam looked down.

"In the fight. Few years back, we couldn't've handled a fight that big." Dean told him as he finished the final stitch. "Even with the help of some heavenly host."

"That's our job." Sam agreed, pulling away as Dean finished, rolling his shoulder.

"Yeah, it is." Dean agreed, putting the needle back on the table. Sam saw his brother's face darken, his jaw clench, and he took another drink from the bottle.

"Dean," Sam began, not sure what to say.

"It's our whole life." Dean stood up, bottle in hand, and leant against the wall. "At least we're good at it."

"It doesn't have to be." Sam reminded him. He knew what Dean was thinking, he knew how he felt; it was their life, over and over, that hurt them and everyone around them. They knew nothing else, nothing but the constant kill-or-be-killed life that they had been a part of since they were children, and it was because of that, that Cas was lying comatose upstairs. "You got out before."

"Oh, and that went so well." Sam thought of Lisa and Ben, safe knowing nothing of the dangers they once faced. He knew that Dean checked up on them every once in a while, though he never mentioned them.

"Just because it didn't work once-" Sam tried, but Dean interrupted.

"What are you thinking, Sammy?" Dean asked, suddenly short tempered. Sam remembered Dean's threat, that they must never be mentioned again. He regretted bringing them up, now of all times. "That I find a nice girl and settle down with her? Have a few kids? We can't have the apple pie life, you know that."

"I don't, Dean." Sam sighed.

"Well, I do." Dean's voice had risen, practically yelling. "We broke the world, again. So we have to fix it. We can't just give up because we're tired of it."

Sam looked at his brother, and noticed the shiny dampness in his eyes. "What about after?"

"There isn't an after. There will never be an after. We just keep going until something kills us."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah, maybe." He looked down at his knees.

"Yeah, maybe." Dean mimicked. "What? What do you have in mind? Got a girl in mind? Someone who can handle the life? Can she balance breastfeeding and ganking at the same time?"

"I wasn't thinking about me." Sam explained, and Dean raised his eyebrows, folding his arms.

"What, me?" Dean scoffed. "You're trying to set me up. She hot? Because if I'm going to get her killed, she better be hot."

Sam folded his arms, mirroring Dean. "Not a she."

Dean frowned. "You lost me."

Sam sighed, not sure how far he was willing to push this. He was working purely on speculation, on what he'd seen and considered, but it was by no means fact. Sure, Dean clearly liked Cas a lot, cared for him; the last few days had proven that. But who was to say if it was anything more?

But Sam knew that Dean was hurting. Sure, Dean had improved slightly, but he was still torn apart inside over it. What if Sam pushed Dean too far. What if Cas never woke up and Dean...

"Nothing, never mind." Sam said, standing up. He rolled his shoulder again, testing the stitches. It stung and tugged, but held. "It's been a long day. I'm going to sleep." He smiled at his brother as he left the room, leaving Dean somewhat bewildered.


	45. Chapter 45

After Sam went to sleep, Dean just wandered around for a while. He dropped the whisky, switching to beer, and carried the six pack around the house. He tried watching TV for a while, but he couldn't keep his attention on anything for long enough.

He cleaned his guns. He drank his beer. He checked on Cas. He drank his beer. He put away the needle. He drank his beer. He tried to research. He drank his beer. He tried to watch porn. He drank his beer.

He checked on Sam, too. He had fallen asleep on the sofa in the library that Bobby had set up, the sheet slung over him, but apparently he'd rolled around in his sleep. By the time that Dean wandered into the room, the sheet was half on the floor, and Sam's arm was dragging on the floor. Dean smiled softly at the sight; that boy was too big for that sofa. He'd be better off on the floor.

He'd been looking after Sam for as long as he could remember. Pulling the sheet back on to him was nothing short of normal, exactly the same treatment he'd been giving him all his life. Perhaps Sam didn't always see Dean taking care of him like this; making sure he was comfortable while he slept, making sure he got the last bowl of cereal. Sure, he was tough on him sometimes; they fought, they bickered, he played bad cop. But he was always looking out for Sam. He never stopped.

He thought over what Sam was talking about earlier, about letting someone else in. He did want that for Sam, he really did. He knew Sam would be a good husband, a great dad, even a decent lawyer. When he first ran away, despite how terrified he was of his father's anger, he was relieved. Sammy might finally get that perfect normal life he'd always dreamt of.

Dean didn't let himself admit it, but he wanted it too. He'd tried so hard with Ben and Lisa. He fit there, he really did. Making breakfast, real, proper breakfast for people, barbeques out on the back lawn, carpool and bedtime. He had done it all so well. It had disturbed him, at first, how well he fit into it. But there had always been an itch, that itch to get away, to hunt, to find something to kill. There was always going to be something evil, something wrong out there and he probably had it in his power to stop it. How could he rest at night knowing that others were dying in his place?

His mind wandered to his grandparents, Samuel and Deanna. In fact, to the whole Campbell line. They had been a family of hunters for generations. They had managed to balance the life with the good life; white picket fence and hunting went hand in hand for them. How had they done it? Sure, Mary had hated it, had ran away as far as she could, but did that really negate all the successful generations before?

Dean had wandered on by this point, onto his third bottle of the pack. He double checked the protection sigils plastered round the house, and found his way back to Cas's room again. He was exactly as he had left him, not a muscle moved.

Dean leant against the doorframe, watching. There really wasn't anything to watch, except the slow breathing of the man in the bed. It was reassuring, at least. It was like checking for a pulse; Cas was still there.

Dean took another sip of the beer, moving from the doorframe to the armchair in the corner. It was facing the bed, meaning he still had a good view on the man, and he didn't feel quite so lurky.

The room was silent, and Dean rested his chin in his hand, waiting for nothing. There was nothing to do. There was nothing left for him to try, he had explored every avenue he could think of, every lead. His head slipped, and his forehead moved to lean in his hand, and Dean closed his eyes.

"God." He whispered, absolutely dejected. Then he opened his eyes again. That was something he hadn't tried.

He placed the bottle on the ground and clasped his hands together. With one last look to Cas, he closed his eyes and paused a second before beginning.

"Dear..." He cleared his throat. "Dear God?" He winced. "I don't really know how to do this. Sleeping Beauty over there doesn't really care how I call him.

"I know you've ignored us in the past. Or brushed us off. You didn't want to help out. You've called it quits, I get it. Wish I could do the same." Dean paused; probably wasn't great to be passive aggressive during this.

"Never mind. I don't know if you're listening, I don't even know if you know what's happening down here. But it's pretty bad. And I'm willing to bet that just a tiny part of you still cares about this planet. And... I know you care about Cas. You wouldn't keep bringing him back if you didn't."

Dean paused again, scrunching his eyes tighter, ignoring, for the minute, the wet roll of dew escaping his eyes.

"It's just..." He sighed, not knowing what to say. How on earth could he put what he felt into words. How could he be capable of that. He opened his eyes, looking to Cas. He knew what Cas would say. Whoever was listening would get it. They'd get what he was trying to say, what he couldn't. They'd get what words wouldn't put together.

"I don't think you're done with him yet. He's still got this big mess to clean up, and..." Dean closed his eyes again. "He's only just starting. He's only..." He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. "I'm not done with him yet."

He broke his clasped hands to wipe a palm across his mouth.

"Please."

He didn't know how to end. Was he meant to say 'amen'?

Before he had the chance to decide, his phone began to ring in his pocket.


	46. Chapter 46

Dean jolted, surprised by the insistent buzzing coming from his pocket.

He looked up at the ceiling briefly. "Hang on a minute." He told God, before straightening up and pulling the phone from his pocket. He frowned, seeing the caller ID, before answering.

"Chuck?" He greeted, disbelief in his tone.

"Hey, Dean." The tinny voice replied, sounding just the same as he'd ever done. "How you been?"

"Isn't that question a little redundant?" Dean retorted. He knew for a fact that Chuck would know how exactly he'd been.

"Yeah, I guess." Chuck chuckled nervously, and Dean frowned again, looking over at Cas in the bed. He stood up and vacated the room.

"Where you been, Chuck?" Dean asked. "Man, we haven't heard from you in ages!"

"Oh, I got off the grid for a bit." Dean could almost see hi, wandering around his kitchen, agitatedly playing with whatever tidbit he could get his hands on. "You know, apocalypse and all that. Wanted to stay out of everyone's way until it all died down."

"So you've still got your prophet-goggles on?"

"Do I still get to see what you and Sam are up to?" Chuck clarified. "Yeah, I get updates. Don't worry, I haven't published anything. I don't think they'd go down well."

"What's that meant to mean?" Dean asked, mildly offended despite himself.

"After the whole apocalypse storyline... you gotta admit that the last couple of years have kind of lacked direction?"

"Chuck. Real life." Dean barked.

"Which makes it absolutely fine!" He backpedalled. "Who needs direction. Not me!"

"What do you want, Chuck?" Dean reminded, already weary of the conversation.

"Well, I got your call!"

"What call?" Dean's perplexed frown was now permanently etched into his forehead.

"Well, your prayer." Chuck told him, as if it were obvious. "You were just praying, weren't you?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Since when do you manage God's answerphone?"

"Since when do you pray to God?" Chuck countered, and Dean nodded.

"Why are you calling, Chuck?" Dean asked. "Not that it's not great to hear from you, but..."

"Well, I saw myself calling you." Chuck explained.

"You saw- you saw you calling me?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah," Chuck clarified.

"Saying what?"

"Uh..." Chuck mumbled. "Didn't get that far."

"Seriously?" He uttered in disbelief. "Of all the times to call, Chuck... we have been through a boatload of crap in the last two years, and now you decide to call?"

"Yeah?" Chuck sounded nervous again.

The cogs in Dean's head started to move, he started to actually think about who he was talking to. This was Chuck, prophet of the Lord. The dude who gets the sneak preview in what comes next in the Winchester Gospels. "You've seen something, haven't you?"

"Like what?"

"Like Cas, that's what." Dean told him. "What do you know?"

"I know what happened." Chuck replied. "I know he's in a coma-"

"You know how to wake him up." Dean finished.

"No, no I don't-" The prophet stumbled.

"Yes, you do." He spat. "What do I do? How do I do it?"

"I don't know!" Was the shrill reply. "I don't even know why I'm calling!"

"But you know if he'll wake up, right?" Dean continued, grasping for a chance. "When's he going to wake up?"

"Dean, I don't know." He repeated. "I wish I had something to tell you, I really do. But I don't."

"Chuck-"

"You called, and I answered." Chuck told him. "That's literally all I can do."

Dean didn't reply, his heart sinking in his chest. He hadn't noticed the sudden hope that had surged at the sound of Chuck's voice, at the promise of the prophet, but now it was, once again, gone. Each time he thought he couldn't lose any more, each time he thought he was at rock bottom, but each time he found he could sink a little bit deeper.

"Look, Dean," Chuck continued. "Just get some sleep."

"The great prophet Chuck called to tell me to go to sleep." Dean choked out, wiping a hand across his face. "Brush my teeth too? Eat my fruit and veg, hold Sam's hand while crossing the road?"

"Nothing's gonna happen tonight, I can see that much." Was the reply. "And you really need a decent night's sleep."

Dean turned around, looking back to the man in the bed. "Nothing?"

"All clear."

Dean let out a long breath. Despite himself, he knew Chuck was right. There was nothing he could do, there was nothing to do. No amount of pleading or planning or doing would wake Cas up. The fatigue that he'd shoved away came back in full force, the adrenaline from the fight earlier evaporated. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into the bed and sleep.

"Thanks for calling, Chuck." Dean told him. He'd missed the guy.

"Yup." The prophet replied.

Dean hung up, knowing the conversation was over, and dragged himself back to the chair. He didn't remember closing his eyes, he barely remembered hitting the lumpy furniture. Sleep arrived in an instant.


	47. Chapter 47

The lake was quiet. It was also uncharacteristically warm for this time of year, but the birds and the fish didn't seem to mind.

There was little sign of civilisation here; all that had been left behind. No cottage or road or car or human could be seen. The only sign of human handiwork was the small wooden dock he was on, stretching a little ways across the water.

The fish swam, heedless of the rod designed to ensnare them. The birds flew, occasionally sweeping low over the water. Mainly they stuck to the trees guarding the water, or kept to the muddy bays.

It was safe here. Perpetual white, fluffy clouds hung the sky, keeping the warmth in and the harsh sunlight at bay. Aside from the lapping of water and the soft calls of the birds, all was quiet.

The fishing rod hung in Dean's hands, firmly in place, but not firmly in use. Dean cared little whether any fish were caught or not, and if this rate continued, none would be caught at all. That wasn't the point.

This was Dean's escape.

He'd been here once. Back through the woods, a few miles back, his Dad and he had destroyed the ghost that had been haunting the woods. After it was done, John went off, leaving Dean to his own devices for a bit. He'd stumbled across this dock. He'd just sat there for hours, feet dangling off the edge of the pier, just shy of tracing the water. He hadn't been fishing at the time, that was just something his brain added in. Same with the lumpy arm chair he was sitting in.

He didn't always get to go here. He used to, more than he did of late. Usually it was nightmares, dreaded repeats. Some were better than others, and some would stray into those forty years he desperately wanted to forget. When Cas was around, properly around, he would sometimes keep an eye on his dreams, direct them into a more pleasant direction. He hadn't had that luxury for some time now.

The thing was, when he was here, he was always alone. Only once had someone managed to encroach, to invade his lake. Just once.

And now twice.

Dean started, his peripheral vision catching something. He turned quickly, dropping the rod.

"Cas?" Dean looked up to see the angel standing beside him on the deck. As the hunter was seated, the angel towered above him, but that wasn't the only thing that was off. "Is that you?"

"No. Was the simple reply. He did not turn to look at Dean, instead stared out at the water. Dean realised what it was; Castiel, who had been with them for days now, wearing the same dreary suit as he always had, was now wearing the familiar dirty trenchcoat over it.

"Oh." Dean frowned, glancing to the water. "Am I dreaming?"

"It's possible."

Dean looked down to the dropped fishing rod before looking back up to the angel. "Well, it's good to see you." He told him. "Up and about, I mean.

Cas finally turned to him, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." A red stain spread over his chest.

Dean blinked in confusion. "Yeah, I know.

The angels face changed suddenly, inexplicably furious, and Dean stumbled back, upturning the once sturdy chair. "And I can throw you back in. You should show me some respect."

Dean stood, chair and fishing rod vanished. Despite usually being taller than the angel, he still found himself shorter, as if he hadn't stood at all.

"I work for God, not man. And I certainly don't work for you."

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean pleaded. Suddenly, his face changed again, overwhelming terror in his eyes. "What, what is it?" The hunter cried.

"Dean, this is a den of iniquity, I should not be here!"

Despite the situation, the confusion, Dean chuckled, enamoured by the memory. "Oh, I'm sorry, Cas." He laughed.

Castiel's face softened, formed a smile, warm towards Dean. It was unusual for him to smile, yet it fit there like he never did anything else. "Most of the time, I'd rather be here with you.

Dean froze. He'd forgotten Cas had ever said that.

"We do share a more profound bond."

Dean's smile grew wider.

Castiel's face lost its smile, and his head tilted to the left. "What's the matter? Don;t you think you deserve to be saved?" His eyes were wide, the blue searching Dean's soul.

Dean's smile sagged slightly. "Cas..."

"This isn't funny!" Cas replied, suddenly exasperated. "The voice says I'm almost out of minutes!" he cried. Again his face changed, becoming more ragged. He grew stubble, and his hair grew too, falling flat against his forehead. "What? I like past you!"

Dean's smile had fallen now. "No. That didn't happen, we stopped that!"

"Dean, I'm all but useless."

"God..." Dean whispered, realising. "No. That won't happen. We can fix this!"

To that, Cas snapped back to normal, though once again furious. "Dean, it's not broken!" He yelled.

Dean stumbled forward a little. "Cas, no, stop it. Please, stop it!" He begged, but Cas's hand snapped out, shoving Dean back against a wall that hadn't been there a minute before. His back slammed hard against it. Cas pressed him against him, holding him up against the wall with ease. He leant in, hissing in his ear.

"I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me?!"

Dean coughed, and the memory of long bled blood spat out.

Cas turned him around, slamming him against another non-existent wall.

"Cas," Dean choked out. "Please?"

And he was gone. Dean stumbled forward, feet unsteady on the creaking wooden planks. He wheezed slightly, testing his chest, before looking up.

"Cas?" He called. "Where are you?"

He turned around, seeing the angel standing a few meters off. He stumbled forwards.

"Cas." Dean whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're right, I've been a complete... Cas?"

Dean felt a gnaw of worry building inside him as he looked at the angel. He was hunching slightly, chin dipped a little too low. And then Dean saw it. Starting at the hands, a drip. One black drip. And at the mouth too. The ears, soaking the underarm of his trenchcoat.

"No!" Dean yelled. "Not this one!" He ran forwards to Cas, ready to catch him when he fell, but instead Dean felt his own feet fall, slipping off the dry boards and into the water below.

He tried to break the surface, but found himself sinking. He tried to swim up, but he couldn't find 'up'. He was getting tugged down, his air was running out fast, the pressure to breathe was becoming overwhelming. His body began to shudder, his arms and legs spasming as they tried to find a way out, and his eyes stung when he opened them to see. The water was murky, and he couldn't see a way out.

And then there were hands. He felt it, one hand with a strong grip on his right forearm, gripping almost painfully right, tugging him inexplicably up, up, up and breaking the water. Sucking in a huge lungfull of air, he opened his waterlogged eyes, trying to make out what he could see.

It was Cas. Dean was lying flat on his back on the desk, and Cas was above him, looking down at him anxiously.

"Cas?" Dean choked out.

"I'm here, Dean. The angel replied, his hand still on Dean's arm.

Dean looked up at him, taking him in. "Which time are you now?" He groaned, and Cas cocked his head, looking confused.

Then Dean looked again. He looked the same as ever, the scruffy hair, the wonky tie. But no trenchcoat. The black suit jacket sat alone on his shoulders. Dean reached up and gripped it, gripped his arms, and sat up, instantly pulling him into a hug so tight he wasn't sure he could let go.

The angel was confused, at first. His arms hung loose by his side, scraping the deck, one awkwardly folded where it had been on Dean's arm, but slowly he lifted them and placed them around the hunter, and squeezed.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, stuck in that tight embrace before Dean pulled away, looking Cas deep in the eyes that the angel had done to him so many times.

"Cas." Dean whispered, taking him in. "I am sorry, man, I am,"

"I know." He replied, unsmiling, but with warm eyes.

"I've been a complete..." Dean's voie trailed off as he moved his hand from Cas's shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping slightly, and before he knew it, he had leant in, closer than Cas had ever breached Dean's personal space, and lips met lips.

At first it was clumsy, teeth clashing and Cas's mouth still, questioning, unsure. But Dean's eagerness made up for it, and soon their lips were moving together, finally doing what they had been denying for so long. Dean's other hand moved under Cas's arm, resting on the centre of his back, pulling him closer to him, and that's when Cas really started to participate. Virgin and inexperienced as he was, he had watched humans for millenia. Hands moving from where they had been previously, he lowered them, one pulling the hunter closer to him, the other skimming down the hunters side, then gently, teasing, began to toy with the line of Dean's waistband. Almost tickling, he skirted lower, over his jeans to palm at Dean's-

"DEAN!"

He sat bolt upright, shocked into consciousness by Sam's voice.


	48. Chapter 48

"DEAN!" Sam yelled at his brother, who was looking a little bit too comfortable in that armchair.

"Holy crap, Sammy!" Dean spluttered out, instincts kicking in as he reached for the gun stashed down the side of the cushions in the chair. "What is it?!"

Sam took a step back and sat on the edge of the bed, wincing in apology. "Dean, you slept twelve hours."

Dean blinked, his hand relaxing slightly as he sat up, looking at his brother. "You woke me up for that?"

"No, not really." Sam admitted, throwing his brother a cushion from the bed. Dean blushed slightly as he realised what it was for and placed it over his crotch. Neither of them made a fuss of it; they'd been sharing the same rooms for most of their lives, and they'd seen a lot worse of each other than a simple case of morning wood.

"Well, then what?" Dean replied grumpily. He didn't really appreciate being woken up unnecessarily, even if he had gotten an inordinate amount of sleep. And the dreams last night weren't even that bad, more so a confusing, guilt ridden mess of memories, of Cas. He craned his neck round, checking the sleeping body in the bed. He could still see his chest moving up and down slowly, still breathing.

"I got a case." Sam told him, and Dean's eyes snapped back to his brother. Oh right, a case; their job. He looked back at Cas.

"A case." Dean repeated.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Don't worry, I'm fine by myself for this one."

Dean returned his gaze to Sam. "You sure about that?" He asked incredulously; despite the fact that his little brother was an overgrown, very skilled and deadly hunter, he still didn't like the thought of him working a case on his own. Having an easy job with backup is better than having a challenging case with none. That's the sort of thing that gets people like them killed.

"No, I mean," Sam back peddled. "I've got backup. I'm backup." He explained, and Dean leant back a bit, raising his eyebrows.

"Who?"

"Garth." Sam shrugged.

Dean let a smile encroach onto his face. "Garth?" He repeated. "You're going hunting with Garth."

"He's in the area clearing a vamp nest." Sam explained. "Could use a hand."

Dean blinked. "Alright." He said. "The guy's almost competent. I mean, he aint dead yet, so that's saying something." Sam smirked. "You leaving now?"

"Garth's dropping over, actually." Sam explained, grimacing slightly. "Tried to talk him out of it, but he's pretty persistent. Wanted to see you."

"Why'd he want to see me?" Dean frowned.

"He wants to see his friend!" Sam grinned, slapping his hands down onto his thighs as he rose up from the bed. "He'll be here any minute."

"Friend?" Dean repeated incredulously. These boys didn't have many friends. "Right. Whatever. I'll be down in a minute."

"Fine." Sam said, smirking at him. "You finish off."

Dean's expression froze as his brother left the room, the practised poker face instantly on his face. He was not going to finish off.

He looked over at Cas, his mind going back to what had started in the first place. It was just a dream, he knew that, and he'd had far worse than a little bit of uncomfortable dude-on-dude action in his nightmares before. Somehow, though, it unsettled him slightly more than usual. Abject terrifying dreams he was used to, he could choke them down and force a smile just fine. This, however...it had felt so real, so vivid; he had really felt everything, the slamming against the wall, the water, the lips, the hand...

He shook himself, clearing his head. It was just a dream.

He stood and walked over to the bed, leaving the cushion behind. Hesitantly placing two fingers onto Castiel's neck, he waited impatiently for the steady pulse to make its presence known, and, within a few seconds it did. Dean sighed, relaxing his hand, letting it gently cup the chin of his friend. He looked at the face, letting himself relax again for a minute. Castiel was still here, looking for all the world like he was sleeping.

He could feel the rough graze of stubble under his fingertips, and he tilted his head, stroking it softly. Did it seem darker than usual? The angel had always sported a five o'clock shadow, and maybe he was imagining it, but he could've sworn it was worse. His fingers played along the grate of it, stroking up and down his cheek, enjoying the texture. Without thinking, his fingers travelled along, back down from his ear, and landed at the man's lips. His fingers didn't stop, mapping the texture, first the soft line where skin met lip, and then just further in, scraping the chap of his lips. He remembered the feel of them against his, warm, but unresponsive, different, but utterly right.

He dragged his finger back to the edge of Cas's lower lip, and the pressure was enough to just slightly part them. The tickle of warm breath landed on Dean's fingers, and he jerked back, pulling his hand back to his chest and stepped away.

"Oh, come on." He muttered to himself, cradling his hand with the other against his chest. "No need to act like a creep."

He took one last look at the angel and, after reaching up to his own face and palming his hand over his mouth, he left the room, ready to greet his friend.


	49. Chapter 49

Garth's smile lit across his face the instant he saw Sam as if he were a kid in a candy shop, instead of a grown man entering a dank cabin in the woods.

"Sam!" He cried, giving him a hug, completely dwarfed by the Winchester's size. "How are you?"

Sam awkwardly patted the smaller man on the back. "Yeah, Garth; I'm good." He told him. "How about you?"

"I'm fantastic, dude!" He told him, breaking the hug and stepping back to look at him, the smile still wide across his face. "Just took down a poltergeist outside of Polson. That was one tough S.O.B." He shook his head at the memory. "Good times."

"By yourself?" Sam asked, stepping aside so that Garth could get in, and the man looked around with interest. "Not bad, Garth."

"Thanks, Sammy!" He smiled, as he looked around. "Where'd you guys get this place, anyway?"

"Uh, was Rufus's," Sam explained, letting the nickname slide as he picked up his bag, checking around to make sure he had the necessities. "We moved all of Bobby's stuff here after the house burnt."

"Man... cool hut." The smaller man grinned. "Mind if I took a look around?"

"Uh..." Sam hesitated, looking up. "Another time. We kinda have things going on right now." He brushed it off. "So, vamp nest?"

Garth's brow furrowed, but let it slide. "Yeah, got some in the woods a few miles north of here. Shouldn't be too hard to Garth 'em, 'we get an early enough start on it."

"To Ga-" Sam repeated, shaking his head in amusement. "Okay, let's go."

Garth picked up one of the books from the table, glancing it over. "What about Dean?"

"Uh..." Sam hesitated, and Garth looked up, slightly confused. "About that, Dean's..."

"Dean's here." The elder Winchester interrupted, stepping down the last of the stairs, pasting a smile on his face for Garth.

"Hey!" Garth cried, striding straight over with curious swagger for a man so small. "Dean, how you been?"

"Just... great, Garth." Dean replied, patting the man thrice on the back until he let go. "What about you?"

"Just been telling Sam, took a poltergeist out nearby, figured I'd hit two birds with one stone. 'Specially since you two are around..."

"Yeah..." Dean stepped away, moving towards the fridge for another beer. "About that. Sam did mention-"

"You're not coming?" Garth finished. "Yeah, he said. Man, what's up with that? You love a good hunt!"

"Ah, we, uh..." Dean trailed off, glancing at Sam, who gave a small shrug. "We've just got stuff going on here, and someone needs to hold down the fort." He snapped the lid of his beer off and took a sip, looking away. As much as he liked the dweeby guy, he didn't want to explain. How could he really tell him? How could he start? Even just a fraction of a detail would lead to more questions, answers he didn't want to give. Sam could tell Garth later, if he wanted; just so long as Dean wasn't there. He didn't want the sad glances, the sighs, the "I'm sorry to hear that" and the sympathy. He didn't even want Garth to say that he might know a guy who knew a guy who might wake him up; he'd been let down too much already.

Garth, much to Dean's relief, dropped the matter, brushing the dust from his hands onto his jeans. "Well, if you're sure." He smiled. "Do you want us to grab anything on the way back? Milk? Some paint?" He glanced around the room again. "You know, my cousin's an interior decorator, I bet he could give you guys a great deal on the place."

"Another couple' pack of sixes." Dean suggested, raising the bottle, ignoring Sam's glance in his direction. He knew what he'd see there.

"Come on, Garth." Sam stood up a little straighter, towering over the smaller man, who, to his credit, looked more bemused by this than anything. "Let's get there before night hits, at least."

"Yeah, alright." Garth agreed. He sauntered over, giving Dean a pat on the shoulder. "I'll get your brother back safe and sound, don't you worry."

Dean frowned slightly. "My mind is completely at ease now, thanks." He sarcastically replied, watching as Sam picked up his bag to go. He took a sip of his beer, looking out the window at the car. It was all packed and ready to go, and Dean felt a pulse start in his temple. He took another sip, gritting his teeth around the taste as he watched, seeing Garth through the glass walking up to the car. In just a few seconds, Sam would be gone in the frankly too small car, and Dean would be left alone in the too quiet hut. No, not really alone.

It was rare that Sam went out on a hunt while Dean stayed back. It went all the way back to when they were kids; Dean would take the risks, Sammy would stay in the safety zone. John had drummed it into his head and it had never gone away. Sure, it was nice to have a few hours or days break from his lump of a brother, there was only so long you could stay within ten feet of someone before starting to feel a little lethal, but it always made him feel a bit sick to his stomach. What if something happened to Sam? What if he came back hurt? What if he didn't come back at all?

His heartbeat started to rise, and he took another sip, hand gripping tight around the bottle neck. He could feel the tendons in his wrist, his neck, stretching, and his heart was thumping hard, his chest felt constricted. He was going to be all alone in this hut with no-one but the shell of his friend.

"Dean?"

His head snapped around to look at Sam, who was standing a few metres away, concern etched across his face.

What was he meant to say? 'Don't go kill the bad vampires because I'm having a chick flick moment'? No. Just because he wasn't fighting fit right now, didn't mean he could let his brother neglect the job too.

"Gank one for me." Dean gruffly replied. Another gulp of alcohol.

"I don't have to go if you need me here." Sam told him, taking a step forwards, ducking his chin and hunching down slightly, bringing himself down to Dean's height. "Garth knows other hunters who can back him up."

Dean scowled, leaning back against the counter. "We're in the back-end of nowhere, they wouldn't get here before sundown." He pointed out. "And I can take care of one sleeping beauty by myself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Dean took another sip. "Yeah, I do, and it's dumb." He shrugged, looking back out the window and seeing Garth sitting in the car, tapping out some form of rhythm on the steering wheel. "Don't worry about me. Go kill some vampires, and come back alive. That's all I need."

Sam didn't ask him if he was sure. Sam didn't try to whittle him down, try to get an answer. He knew how much it would be killing Dean that it was Sam going out on a hunt while he stayed at home, doing nothing. But they knew that Dean wouldn't leave Cas alone, not yet. And there was no way that he would put their personal issue crap in front of the job. So, this was really the only route, and they knew it.

"Okay." Sam agreed, sighing and straightening up. He took a final look at his brother before turning round and picking up his bag.

"Gank one for me." Dean told them, taking another sip as his brother moved towards the door.

"You got it." Was the reply, short and to the point, because what more was there to say?

Sam nodded to himself and walked out the door, heading straight for the car where Garth was still waiting. Dean looked away from the window, not wanting to see them drive away, instead focusing on downing the rest of the bottle. Sam would come back. There was no need for him to worry.


	50. Chapter 50

After Sam and Garth left, Dean didn't really know what to do with himself. He drank another two bottles of beer, and mused on the fact that he hadn't requested more than one scant six pack from Garth's kind offer of groceries. He wandered the house, his feet taking him round, scuffing the carpets, meeting with furniture. Dean himself didn't take much notice, just sipping his beer as he went around, uncaring. But eventually his feet took him back upstairs, back into the doorway of the room that his friend's shell inhabited.

Dean sighed, looking down at his feet as if they were to blame for taking him here. "There's nothing I can do." He told them, and they almost twitched, feigning a shrug.

Looking back up to his friend, he saw that he had, once again, not moved a bit. He was as stock still as ever, bed sheets unmussed except where Dean had bothered them earlier. His chest rose and fell slowly, the same pace as ever, and Dean let his feet take him over. He put his fingers on the pulse point under his chin. Still there.

Whenever Dean did this, the man's chin would tilt up, moved forwards by the sight pressure of Dean's touch. Each time he did it, he squashed down the hope, the instinct to believe that Castiel's eyes would open, would look up at him. He had to let it be enough that the pulse was still there, still gently ticking away, pumping blood through the stolen body.

He let go of the pulse point, and the chin dropped again. Dean took another sip of his beer, knocking the liquid to the halfway point in the bottle, and looked away to the door, body itching to leave but feet not yet agreeing. He stayed in the same spot, towering over the sleeping man. He held that for a few seconds, before sighing, sitting down on the chair he had slept on the night before.

From this vantage, he realised he could see out of the window, could see the blue sky, the trees. There was a branch right outside the window, not thick, not strong; it couldn't carry a man's weight, but it had something Dean hadn't seen in a while. A small, white flower was blooming from the brown, barely more than a bud, but still, definitely there.

"Think spring's coming." He told the man, peering out. He looked back at Cas, his listless face, and noticed with a small smile that the sunlight from the window was just shy of reaching his face, but would, in time.

Dean was sick of the winter. While Sam and he were the peak of physical fitness and didn't much let a bit of a chill bother them, it still sucked to hunt in the cold. Especially this far North. Spring was better, even if it had barely begun.

He wondered if Cas would like Spring. The guy could probably wax poetical about some religious ritual, the birth of life, or something.

"But that's nothing compared to the first ice cream." He spoke aloud, voice echoing in the quiet room. There was no reply, except the slow creep of sunlight. It had started on his earlobe, soft hairs glistening in the light.

He doubted Cas had ever eaten ice cream before.

Dean wondered how Sam and Garth were getting on, and he felt the gloom descend again, as briefly lifted as it had been by the prospect of the spring. Sam was out there, putting his life on the line instead of Dean. And he knew that it would keep happening until Dean told him to stop.

"We'll have to get you a nurse." Dean mused out loud. "A hot one. Wonder if Obama Care covers that?"

No response. The light drew closer, having engulfed Cas's ear, and beginning on his shoulder, throwing shadows in the creases of the hospital pyjama's e was still in.

"Cos, I gotta stow this." Dean continued, talking to the shoulder. "I can't let Sammy go out and hunt instead of me. That's not how him and me work. And I know you get that." Dean paused watching as the light slowly crept over, not beginning to catch on the stubble of Cas's jaw.

"I can't just sit around here, waiting for you to wake up." His throat caught on that, no small spark of guilt landing with the words. He knew he shouldn't blame Cas for this. The angel did this for him.

"They keep saying I can't do anything, man;" he choked, pausing to steady his voice. "That waking up... it's up to you.

"Cos, I've tried everything, Cas; every damn thing. And you still won't wake up." He stopped again, looking out of the window. The flower was swaying now, caught in a cold winter breeze trying to tug it from its lifeline. He brought his gaze back to Cas. The sun was toying with the corner of his mouth, casting a shadow that almost looked like a half smirk. It didn't suit him, and reminded Dean uncomfortably of one of the smiles his face had shown, just before he walked into that lake.

"Why aren't you?" He asked, and once again got no response. "The world ain't that bad. You've saved it enough times, it's about time you wake up and get to see it."

Dean was dimly aware that he wouldn't be able to say this to anyone who could actually hear. But with his best friend lying lifeless on the bed in front of him, the words could be spoken.

"There's way more than what you've seen. Pie, Cas; pie." He laughed slightly at himself. "And sex. Sometimes both at once." He smiled to himself, his chin dropping in. He wiped a palm across his mouth to continue. "Snow. You haven't seen snow." Shaking his head, he corrected himself. "I mean, I'm sure you've seen snow, but I bet you haven't played in it." He emphasised as the light continued to crawl, tugging at a nostril, pulling at the corner of his left eye. "Snow angels!" Dean exclaimed suddenly. "I am making you make a snow angel."

Dean laughed and as the light continued to crawl across it fell across his eyebrow, highlighting an old crease in the sun, casting a shadow along it, and forming an echo of an expression so familiar that Dean laughed harder. A frown, slightly on the side of confused.

"Come on, Cas; that was funny." He grinned, but sobered up slightly, looking down and shaking his head. He began to self-consciously run his hand up and down his left arm, fingers catching on material of his t-shirt with each stroke, and his fingers began to play with it, plucking at the fabric. After half a minute, he noticed what he was doing and looked at it, pulling the material up further, peering at the shoulder, remembering what used to be there.

"It healed up a while ago. The handprint. I think it was after the whole apocalypse showdown." He stroked the flesh, tracing where he remembered the edges being. "Man, I hated that thing. Made for real awkward conversations when I was with the ladies. But, I dunno... now I kinda miss it." He looked up and forced a smile at the man, who didn't offer a response. When he'd had it, it'd felt like a brand, singling him out, a great big "over here" marker. Or even worse, like he'd been claimed. Like it was Cas's tramp-stamp plastered on his shoulder. But now that it was gone, he understood it; it wasn't a claim, it was a promise. It was a sign that someone cared for Dean the way he'd been caring for Sam his whole damn life.

"I'm sorry." He sighed, leaning forwards and taking Cas's right hand, looking at it. Experimentally he leaned further forwards and tugged on the limb, bringing the palm to meet the flesh of his shoulder. It was awkward, the other man's body unresponsive to him, but he held it there, using his free hand to clamp it down, curling the fingers around the flesh. For a second he felt a flash of familiarity, of déjà vu, of a memory he could never quite remember, and frankly, he didn't want to.

He took the hand away and looked down at it, toying it between both of his. The skin felt so frail, and he knew if it were to be cut, it would bleed, not heal as it used to. Moving it slightly, the light caught the thumb, and Dean saw the faint line of the paper cut a few days ago. Still not quite healed, Cas's first real, human glimpse at a mortal wound.

"Sorry." He repeated, laughter in his voice gone. He soothed his fingertips over the mark, looking it over. "Being human isn't that great." He admitted. "You know that. I get that it's a major demotion. Give yourself another fifty years, if you're lucky, and you're gone. Why bother?" Dean looked back at the sleeping face, seeing that the light had clawed further over, his nose casting a long shadow across his right cheek. "But there's so much..." He trailed off.

"I know I can do it all without you. I've done it before. I can carry on just Sam and me, and if I have to..." He stopped, clearing his throat slightly, stopping that thought track. "But, Cas; I don't want to. Don't make me.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I've been a complete dick since you came back, and that's not okay. I know that. You're..." He swallowed, trying to get the words out. "You're family. You're pretty much the best friend I've ever had, and I'm probably yours, and that freakin' sucks. Because if I'm your best, no wonder you don't wanna wake up." Dean squeezed on the hand, not daring to look at his face not looking up. He couldn't. "But if you wake up, I'm gonna try, Cas; I'm gonna be there for you. I'll be better.

"So, I'm begging you,"

He finally looked away from the hand back to Cas's face, now completely bathed in the sunlight.

"Please wake up."

Cas remained still.

Too still.

Dean's eyes dropped to Cas's chest. It wasn't moving any more.

Cas wasn't breathing.


	51. Chapter 51

They had been driving for half an hour, and the scenery hadn't changed an ounce. Just trees, trees, and more trees. They really were in the back end of nowhere.

The conversation was pretty stilted, bouncing between random topics and silence. They had covered basic hunting technique, how Garth had come into the business, and how he'd met his Guru (on a hunt, apparently). Mainly Garth prattled on, talking about anything that floated into his mind, which seemed to be a broad range of subjects. Sam spent a lot of the journey thinking about Dean back at the hut, and Cas. He didn't worry too much; Cas had been asleep for days, and the situation seemed unlikely to change, but still the thought of Dean alone plagued him. As he felt the guilt crawl across him, he shook himself.

"You sure you know where we're going, Garth?" Sam asked, peering out of the window.

"Relax, Sam; it's definitely around here somewhere. Just gotta find the carpark."

"Their nest is near a car park?" Sam repeated incredulously, looking back at the man.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" The smaller hunter smiled, sending Sam a wink. "Easy pickings on hikers, plus they totally rig the parking meter over here."

"They- what?"

"Mmhmm." He confirmed. "It was my first lead, too; people complaining about the sky high price of parking for the woods, yet apparently there's no formal group running parking schemes in the area." Garth explained, sounding fairly smug at himself, as he, as Sam suspected, repeated what he'd been told.

"What?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yuhuh. And you know what? I heard about this one guy, over in En-ger-land," he drawled. "Set up a parking meter in a zoo. Ran it for fifteen years, then one day, bam, didn't come into work. Turned out wasn't hired by the zoo, or the council or whatever."

"Vamp?" Sam scoffed, and Garth side-eyed him.

"Nah, man. Barbados, or something."

"Right." Sam shook his head. "How do you know that the guy running this one isn't just in it for the money?"

"Because it'd be downright stupid to set one up over here. Barely any commuters."

Sam stared at him in disbelief for a minute. "Do you realise how you sound right now?"

Garth glanced back. "Well, there's all that, and the missing persons, neck contusions on corpses, and the rumours of nocturnal folk round here."

Sam held his position for a few more seconds, before starting to laugh. "If this ends up being nothing, I am going to be so pissed."

"I dragged you away from something, didn't I?" Garth asked, shucking his head sympathetically. "I could sense it when I walked in."

"Uh, yeah," Sam shrugged. "Kinda."

"Wanna talk about it?" He nodded over his shoulder. "I could even get Mister Fizzles out; might help?"

"Uh, no. Thanks." Sam said, looking straight out at the road. He didn't know what Mister Fizzles might be, but figured he probably didn't want to know.

"You sure?" Garth checked. "Sometimes I find all you need is a fresh ear in the sitch. Could do a world of good."

"Yeah, that's not gonna work this time." He sighed.

The smaller man shrugged. "Doesn't have to work all the way." He stopped talking and dropped it, leaving them to drive in silence. It was a few minutes before Sam responded.

"A friend of ours came back recently, and he's really sick. Like, don't know if he's gonna make it, sick." He summed up, not looking at Garth, but feeling his stare on him.

"Rough break." Was the answer, and Sam's mouth twitched at the corner. "Guy have a name?"

"Uh, Cas." Sam breathed out. He wasn't sure how Dean would react to him telling Garth, though he could guess it wouldn't be particularly well, but there was something about the tiny man that just made Sam feel comfortable. Dean was right when he said that he grew on you.

"Cas?" Garth repeated. "No, that rings a bell. Bobby mentioned him, said he was..." He looked back up.

"He was." Sam agreed. "Or, we thought he was. We're not too sure about what happened there, to be honest. But he's back."

"And he's sick."

"Yeah." Sam looked down, voice gruff. "There was a fight, and he uh..." Sam looked back at Garth. "Saved Dean. But got himself like this."

"I can see why you wanna keep him around." Garth smiled. "And Dean's beating himself up over it?"

"Well, yeah." Sam agreed, a hidden 'obviously' in his tone. "But it's more than that. Before he went in the first place, things weren't great. Cas went dark-side."

Garth didn't say anything, just continued listening.

"And just as Dean was getting past it, this happens."

Garth whistled. "Man, you're right. Talking ain't gonna fix that one."

Sam chuckled softly. "Right?"

"It's like this hunter I knew, Tamara. One of the best, once she got into it. She hunted with her husband, but he died."

"Tamara?" Sam squinted in thought, and his face fell slightly, remembering. "Yeah, I remember her." He didn't mention his involvement in the story.

"She always said, never hunt as a couple." Garth nodded. "After he died, anyhow. Hurts too much when Death gets ya." Garth glanced over. "'Sides you and Dean, anyway; that death thing never seemed to get between you two."

Sam chuckled.

"How long were Dean and Cas together, anyhow?"

"Uh," Sam did the math in his head. "Three, four years?" He blinked as he digested what Garth had asked. "Dean and Cas weren't together."

Garth raised his eyebrows. "Man, oops." He giggled. "Bobby always made 'em sound like they were. 'If those idjits would stop with the damn bedroom eyes, we coulda stopped three apocalypses by now.'" He imitated, in what, Sam had to admit, was actually quite close.

Sam just laughed again, smiling at the smaller hunter. "I dunno, sometimes I think there's something more there, but..."

Garth shrugged. "When my cousin came out, we had to act like it was this huge surprise. Like we hadn't seen he was dating the lifeguard down the road for the last three years."

"The interior decorator?" Sam inquired, remembering their earlier conversation. Garth frowned at him, shaking his head.

"No, man. Paul's as straight as they come. Stu's the one with the boyfriend. He works in a bank." His face broke into a smile, looking out of the widow a he pulled over the car. "We're here!"

Sam looked out at the countryside around them, seeing that there was, indeed, a small parking lot. He even saw the meter, which Garth headed straight for as soon as he stepped out. Sam glanced around, noticing one other car parked near them. He checked out the ticket on the dash, seeing that it was six days old, but it didn't have any accompanying fines. Perhaps Garth was right.

"Ah, man." He heard Garth sigh, and he looked round. "You got a buck I can borrow?"


	52. Chapter 52

"Cas?!" Dean stood up, to his feet in an instant, watching, hyper alert for a few seconds as he watched the man's chest. It still wasn't moving.

He leant over, cheek against the man's chin, listening. He waited one beat, two, three. He really wasn't breathing.

Instantly moving, he put his fingertips to Cas's pulse point, counting the precious seconds. After five, he felt it. Faint. Barely there. The tiny throb of a weak heart trying to do its job, to pump blood around it's body. Still going.

Dean snapped into action. Waiting wasn't his game. Life and death situations, however...

~

The floor was cold, but he couldn't feel it. The high sheen should have sent chills through his clothes, but all he could feel was the bright scorch his body was bathed in. It was bright, too bright, blindingly bright, searing the cold room white hot while it burnt.

It took lifetimes, millennia's, and just a few seconds for it to stop. He lay there, curled on the floor, shuddering against the residual pain, not noticing the cold bleeding through his clothes.

Eventually, he stopped shaking. The pain had vanished, and as sense began to dawn on the man, he opened his eyes, squinting at the room around him. He saw clearly around, the brightness having subsided. He recognised this place.

Sitting up, he looked around the kitchen. It was starker than he remembered, a sterile whitewash bathing the room, but he recognised it. Why wouldn't he? It was exactly where he had last opened his eyes.

It was the kitchen. The same furniture. The same floor. The same ceiling. Significantly fewer people, though. He looked around, before his eyes caught on the floor directly beneath him. Charcoal black, dark and stained against the rest of the wood panelling.

Giant burn marks, the shape of wings, spread out around him. The echo of those that once were.

He reached down, stroking one of the feather prints. He could feel the soft grit of ash under his fingertips, and he indulged the texture for a few seconds, stroking, sweeping it across, tracing his lost limb. He could almost feel it.

He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of the fact that he wasn't alone. Looking up, he saw a tall woman looking down at him, red hair falling across her shoulders. She smiled, and reached down to him, offering a hand.

"Hello, Cas."

~

"Cas, come on." Dean spat. He'd done this before, knew the drill, didn't even think.

He leant down, pinched Cas's nose tight and lifted his chin, tugging on it to open his mouth. He didn't hesitate, merely took in a deep breath and pushed their lips together, sealing any gaps. He breathed out, releasing all the air from his lungs, looking down Cas's body. His chest slowly rose as Dean gave him air.

He took his mouth away, breathing in deep again, before repeating the action, watching Cas's chest. Obediently it rose.

Dean did this five times, not stopping to think, mind solely focused on the task. This he could do.

He straightened up, watching.

"Don't do this to me, Cas." Dean muttered, wincing as the chest stopped moving.

~

"Anna?" Cas breathed, peering up at the familiar face. She merely smiled, wide smile stretching the corner of her eyes, teeth shining through. Her hand was still outstretched, waiting for him to take, and in time, he did. He grasped it tight, allowing his weight to rest in her form as she tugged him up. He looked around when he was upright, looking down at the wings burnt into the ground. Grimacing, he looked away.

"Angels have a heaven?" Cas asked her, looking at her face, before rethinking his words, remembering Anna's death, correlating it with his own. "Or hell."

"Apparently." Anna mused, looking over his shoulder at the scorch marks. She remembered waking up in her own, and looked back at him, empathy etched across her features. "God didn't forget us after all."

"Daddy's storage locker." Another voice spoke, and Cas looked around. The familiar figure of Gabriel was standing in the doorway, and Cas felt a twinge of a smile play across his features. He knew what Gabriel had done for him, for the Winchesters, for the world. How he had died, trying to save them all. "Welcome home, Cassie."

The word caused Castiel to frown, déjà vu ringing deep. "Balthazar?" He muttered, the word a question, eyes darting back up to his brethren.

"You just missed him." Anna smiled.

~

Dean reached for Cas's pulse, waiting for the beat, and when it didn't come he froze. Just for a second, panic seeping through him as he realised that Cas really was circling the drain here. No pulse, not breathing.

"Don't you fucking dare." He growled, dropping the search for a pulse and moving down, steadying himself before clasping his hands together, heels down, fingers fisted, beginning the drum beat on Castiel's chest.

The kitchen had faded, the scorched wing prints nothing more than a dim shadow in the bleached surroundings. He knew there had to be more to this. They began to walk, a slow leisurely pace, ambling towards nowhere.

"Is everyone here?" Castiel asked, looking to his two angelic companions. He thought back to all that had died, to those lost during the heavenly war against Lucifer, those who died whilst trying to save the righteous man, those that Castiel had killed himself. So many.

"They're around." Anna replied vaguely.

"Raphiel?" Castiel continued, and Anna glanced over.

"He's quiet now." She explained, and Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"He's sulking."

"I see."

~

Panic was setting in now as Dean pushed down harder each time on Castiel's chest. He didn't think of ribs, or bruising, or anything apart from getting his heart moving again. He could stay in a coma as long as he wanted, so long as he didn't just let go.

He paused, checking for a pulse again. Still not there.

He switched to breathing again, pinching the angels nose and clamping their lips together. With a free hand he grabbed his phone, not entirely aware, and hit speed dial. Number 1.

Sam was, at that moment, cursing Dean's timing. His phone began to ring in his pocket just as he and Garth were executing a brutally silent decapitation, unfortunately waking up the one he was standing over.

Dean heard the phone ring as he breathed into Cas's mouth, and ring, and ring. After 5, it stopped, and he heard Sam's voicemail message.

He cursed under his breath between breaths, switching back to pumping the chest.

~

"So, what will you do?"

"Do?" Castiel replied, squinting in the light.

"Oh, come on, Anna; give the boy a break. He only just got here!" Gabriel scolded, patting Castiel round the shoulders.

"His time isn't infinite." Anna told him. "Especially not out there."

"What are the two of you talking about?" Cas asked, frustration seeping through.

"You've been offered a rare choice, Castiel." Anna breathed, and Gabriel scoffed.

"Stay here with your family, or go rot as a human." He explained.

"Well, if you're going to put it like that." Anna sighed.

~

The pumping wasn't working, the breathing wasn't working. Cas's body beneath him remained still and unresponsive as Dean worked, and the realisation was beginning to dawn on the hunter. He kept trying, and trying, but his movements became laboured as despair began to set in.

~

"Anna, you can't seriously be saying you think Cas should go back to those knuckleheads?" Gabriel cried in disbelief.

"I'm not telling him to do anything." She disagreed firmly.

"Don't give me that Switzerland crap." He retorted. "You honestly think he would be better as a human."

Anna sighed, glancing over at Cas. He hadn't said anything.

"Castiel." She breathed. "You have the choice."

He looked up, eyes wide and blue. It felt like it had been so long since he had seen his family, lifetimes. He had changed so much and in so many different ways... he didn't fit anywhere, anymore.

"I am not wanted there." He finally spoke, balling his right hand into a loose fist, and Anna's face softened. Gabriel barely concealed his glee.

"Cas, your people skills have never been quite up to scratch." She smiled. "But you are wanted."

"No." He shook his head, turning away, flexing his hand again. "Dean doesn't want me there."

"Castiel." Anna spoke firmly. "You just aren't listening."

Cas jolted as pins and needles flooded his hand, and he gasped at the sensation. For a second, he could feel it. He could feel him, Dean, could feel his soul under his very fingertips. And he could feel his sadness.

~

"Cas, Cas, please, buddy!" Dean cried, tears starting to flow. He still wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating. Pressing his lips against the man's once more, he breathed out, but stopped halfway through as a sob racked his chest. The truth dawned on him.

Cas was gone.

He dropped, knees giving way beneath him, hands clinging as he fell, keeping hold of Cas's arm. He hung tight on it, one hand around his wrist, the other on his elbow, pulling Cas ever so slightly towards him as Dean's forehead fell into the man's shoulder.

"Cas." He choked out. "Please."

~

He brought his hand up to his face, looking at it, as if it would glean some special insight that he couldn't quite grasp. But instead of seeing anything on his hand, he saw... Dean. He could see the hunter, sat next to his bed, begging him to wake up.

"Oh, come on, Anna; that's cheating!" Gabriel whined, and she just smiled.

"Do you see?" She asked, and Castiel looked round to her. "You are wanted."

~

Dean stayed there for a few seconds, maybe half a minute. Then he pulled away. He wiped his hands across his face, pushing away the tears that had fallen, blinked them away. He looked at the body in the bed, lifeless and distant. The shell of his friend.

He reached back over and took his hand, remembering what everyone had said. It was Cas's choice. It had always been Cas's choice.

"Okay." Dean whispered.

~

The vision of Dean had receded, their brief connection broken, but he knew that it was still there. He span around, trying in vain to catch another glimpse, but all he saw was the white, bleached, ghostly emptiness of the small fragment of the universe they were in. He turned quickly back to Anna, pulse racing.

"Where is he?"

"Outside." She told him, simply, looking down to his chest as he panted, moving fast out of excitement and agitation. She knew he didn't belong here, she knew that his very presence was an anomaly, simply by the fact he was breathing. No-one in this endless place had breathed in a very long time. Some? Not ever.

She stepped forward, watching Castiel's frantic eyes moving back and forth as he tried to comprehend. He was panicking, she could see that.

"Take care, brother." She told him, taking hold of his forearm, offering a gentle anchor as his breathing became stuttered.

"Give the boys my best!" Gabriel called over with a grin, surprisingly gracious in his disappointment. Even he could see that Castiel didn't belong with them, and hadn't for some time.

Castiel looked to Gabriel, then back to Anna. Their eyes fixed, and while he didn't say anything, couldn't get the words out, she knew. The look of love there. They had been family and soldiers together for years before they betrayed each other in turn; now was not the time for grudges.

She held on tight as she felt him twitch, mouth gaping but nothing passing through, and his body strained, gasping for air in a place which had none. Something appeared to change, his hand flew to his mouth as if he felt something there, and for a few seconds he looked at peace, the tension gone.

And after one, last, fleeting glance to her, he was gone.

~

Dean stayed there. He wasn't waiting, not for anything in particular. All hope had gone.

He let his head hang, tore his gaze away from the body and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see anymore. He felt tears well behind his eyelids again and he didn't make an effort to stop them as the silently fell to the floor.

He knew the drill. He knew what to do. He and Sam had faced death a hundred times before, had buried countless friends. This was no different. He would wrap him up in a sheet, he would build a pyre, and he would pour salt and holy water on him and watch him burn.

He'd done it a hundred times before. But it never hurt any less.

But right now, he could stand to wait a little longer. Just stay here, in the quiet room bathed in sunlight, holding onto his best friends hand.

It was still warm. He was still warm. And despite himself, despite knowing that it would do him no good, he clung to that. And even, against his better judgement, he let his fingertips trail to the crease of his wrist and rest there, pretending that his own soft pulse in his fingers was the soft pulse of Castiel's. It wasn't hope, and it wasn't happy. But just for a moment, it was enough.

But he stopped. He raised his head to the ceiling and sighed, a long exhale of a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. He knew that the pulse wasn't Cas's, and he knew that the warmth was residual. He loosened his grip, instead letting his fingers form a loose curl around the wrist. He reached over, snatching the half drunk bottle he had left on the nightstand. Because, what else was there to do?

He settled back, weight against his ankles and finally looked at the body in the bed. Somehow, the tears had dried up, leaving tacky track marks across his face that Dean could feel as he moved. He could see the damp patch from them on Castiel's shoulder.

"To Cas," He muttered, looking at the face, looking as still as it had been for the last few days. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he opened his mouth to finish, though unsure what to say, but stopped. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips again, the fingers on Castiel's wrist. He frowned, moving to remove them, but took the time to glance up at the body. To look at his face.

Thump

He could still feel his pulse, now an irritation to him. He wanted to drop the wrist, take away the reminder that he was still alive whilst Cas was not, but right then, he couldn't. His hand was frozen around it.

Thump

Castiel's face was pale, paler than it used to be. Days of comatose-bed-rest would do that to a guy. It lacked the warm flush of life. But something seemed lacking. Or rather, didn't.

Thump

He dropped the wrist like it burnt him, and it flopped off the edge of the bed, fingers trailing on the floor. That last beat, that last thrum of Dean's pulse, didn't feel like Dean's.

"Cas?" He whispered, looking at the still body.

A second passed.

A second more.

Dean should have stopped hoping. By now, all and every hope that Cas would ever wake up had been crushed, repeatedly. Holding onto that last remnant that stubbornly remained would only hurt him.

Without looking, he reached down, and picked Cas's wrist back up. He firmly placed two fingers on the pulse point. He had to be sure.

Thump

The entire hand jerked, spasming in Dean's now tight grip. Dean looked down, saw it move, before looking straight up to Cas's face, a split second before the man sat bolt upright, free arm flailing, gasping in deep for air like he hadn't breathed for a week. His bright blue eyes were wide open and alert, the deep shock of the journey shaking him bone deep.

"Cas?!" Dean barked out, the words escaping from his lips in shock as he gripped tighter on the wrist, moving up and onto the bed so that he could reach the other, reach for Castiel's arm, fixing him down, fixing him here.

Cas looked round to Dean, chest heaving with exertion, and his eyes fixed on his friend. He didn't say anything, just breathed, body shaking in small tremors as he got used to the sensation of his body. He barely noticed.

"Cas." Dean breathed again, letting go of his friend's arms and patting upwards, almost checking that he was all there, reassuring them both. He gripped hard, squeezing a bit too hard on the flesh, neither of them minding. He stopped when he reached Cas's face, one hand resting on his left shoulder, the other behind his neck. "Cas." He said again. It seemed to be the only word he could say. He grinned, looking the man over. "Cas, you stupid son of a bitch," He muttered, gripping harder. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

His breathing appeared to have slowed, less laboured as he looked at Dean, as he took in the smile, the happiness, the relief so evident in his face. He smiled, a slow lifting of his features into an expression that was so rarely worn on the features that he looked like a brand new man.

"Dean," He replied, tilting his head slightly to the side and into Dean's wrist.

Dean never took another sip from the half drunk bottle of beer. It lay forgotten on the carpet, partially spilt, completely forgotten, a sticky mess that clung until Sam noticed, days later, and cleaned it up. Dean didn't ever drink the new ones in the fridge, either.


	53. Chapter 53

Sam had returned home a few hours later, having driven Garth's car back at a speed that the poor vehicle hadn't seen before. Dean's phone wasn't picking up, was sending him straight to voicemail, due to the fact that when Sam hadn't picked up, it had fallen from the bed and fallen apart. Sam, who had been imagining the worst, couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Dean and Cas sitting at the table, eating leftovers from last night's meal.

**Five Months Later**

A black Impala drove up the drive, conspicuous in the dry dust. There wasn't much else around, a few farms, here and there, but none within a few miles of the place. They parked, and three men got out, two in plaid layers and jeans, one in a long trenchcoat. They looked up at the building, glancing to each other.

"You sure this is the place?" The second tallest asked, and the taller shrugged.

"It's where he sent us." He replied.

Frank Devereaux had given the boys co-ordinates to the warehouse. It was another of his latest paranoid assertions; the Leviathan's were taking charge of this place and turning it into something or other.

But there was nothing going on there. Not yet. All the better for the boys to stake it out, see if there was anything remarkable about the place.

Sam and Dean took out guns, whilst Cas took out the long angel blade. Even after all this time, he still felt the cool weight in his hand was more powerful than a gun. Slower, but certainly more effective against a Leviathan.

They kicked open the door, unlatched as it was, and blinked in the darkness. Light filtered through slats in the roofing, but not much, only leaving stripes of light hitting the dusty floor below. They couldn't see anything going on past the large room, but they could see that there was plenty to hide behind; stacks of timber lay here and there, and heavy machinery was dotted around.

"Sam, you alright to take upstairs?" Dean asked, not looking to his brother as he raised the gun, scouring the place with his eyes.

There wasn't much of an upstairs; a gangway to walk along at the top of the stairs, and what seemed to be a vacated office, the glass punched out. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother before nodding, and made his way to the stairs. This left just Dean and Cas, slowly looking round, each with their weapons raised. They knew better than to be anything less than on guard around the threat of Leviathan's.

"You getting anything, Cas?" Dean asked, sparing a glance to his partner. The man turned round to him.

"I'm not sure..." He murmured. "I can't tell."

Dean could see his frustration. It had been months since Cas had given up his heavenly powers, since he had woken up human, and he knew it frustrated him no end. So easily injured, so slow in a fight. He was, in reality, practically as good as Sam and Dean at the business, but he knew he felt the ache of what once was. Dean just hoped what he got in return was enough to weigh that out.

Not to mention, Cas had a very useful skill against their current Big Bad's. Having had them rocking around in his body for a little while, he had knowledge about them, a sort of sixth sense when dealing with them. He could tell them apart with ease, and he could track them as if by scent.

"Hey, it's okay." Dean said, turning his attention to Cas, who exhaled in frustration. "Frank's sent us on wild goose chases before. I'll bet this is no different."

Cas tilted his head slightly, allowing his features to soften as Dean stepped forward and reached out to him, fingers stroking his jaw slightly and coming to rest on the back of his neck. It was familiar contact now.

"You're doing fine, Cas." He finished reassuringly, squeezing gently. He couldn't help the small flicker down that his eyes travelled to Castiel's lips, and both of them caught it.

"Dean." Cas sighed, but suddenly straightened up, eyes alert.

"What is it?" Dean asked, all business again, brought his hand back to the blade concealed at his waist. He watched Cas's face in anticipation for a few seconds before his face focused.

"Over there." Cas instructed, holding up his blade and indicating to the far side of the room.

Dean turned, two steps ahead of Cas as he moved forward, one hand holding the gun steady and the other reaching for his blade.

"How many?" He whispered, and Cas shook his head.

"I can't tell," He replied. "Something's..."

The question was answered quickly. The ground seemed to give way beneath Cas's feet as he was knocked backwards, landing hard on his backside, and by the time he looked up, Dean wasn't there. He knew where he was, though. He scrambled to his feet and ran round the corner, blade raised to see Dean on the floor beneath the Leviathan.

It was kneeling over him, strong in the form of a middle aged woman. She had Dean pinned by the throat, tight, but took the time to turn and smile at Cas, teeth wide.

"Castiel, so good to see you again." She smirked, looking him up and down. "You look different. You done something to your hair?" She grinned as Cas advanced, blade drawn undaunted by the rapidly approaching figure.

Cas charged, ready to slice for the neck, decapitation. He reached for the bottle of cleaning fluid in his pocket, going for the splash'n'slash, as Dean had once named it, but once again found his journey obstructed. Within a second he was pulled back, held tight by a second Leviathan that he cursed himself for not being able to notice.

"No, no." She cooed. "Dick's got plans for you."

Cas didn't look at her, instead frantically craned to see past her. "Dean!" He called, seeing the man's limbs flailing slightly at the lack of oxygen. He knew somewhere in the back of his head that Sam was dealing with his own Leviathan upstairs. This hadn't been a research mission, someone had laid a trap for them.

The Leviathan's grin widened, and suddenly it snapped, jaw splitting wide, teeth flashing, huge black gaping hole ready to devour Dean down whole. Cas strained, unable to reach his weapons as he watched helpless as-

She was pulled back by a force stronger than a Leviathan, yanked from Dean and sent hurtling across the floor with little more grace than a goldfish that had jumped from its bowl. Something else was on her in an instant. Someone.

Cas took the distraction gratefully, feeling the arms slacken around him, he shoved the angel blade into the stomach of the Leviathan, and using its distraction and pain to spin out and slice the head straight off. He didn't truly see what happen, but he sensed it, near enough.

Dean, however, had sat bolt upright, gasping for air but desperate to see what had happened. He saw the Leviathan crash into a pile of timber, half held up by it, and he saw someone else speed over to her, following almost as fast at the rate as the throw. It was a girl who now grabbed the Leviathan by the collar, hoisting it up and placing a palm flat against its forehead. Dean had the presence of mind to close his eyes for this part, and he saw the room behind his eyelids go bright with the light. He then heard a splatter, and he shielded his face from the black goop that sprayed out. When he opened them, he saw the girl drop the body in disgust, and turn around to look at him and Cas.

"You guys! Finally!" She cried, looking the two of them up and down, smirking at what she evidently saw as Dean rose to his feet. He glanced for Sam, who was exiting the office upstairs, severed head in hand, who paused to look down at the sight below.

"I heard you needed some help with a vermin problem." Livvie said, looking at them, and to Sam, a smug grin on her face. "Figured I might be able to lend a hand."

~~~~~

_To be continued in **Proof Of Purchase** , the sequel to this story. This will delve far more into a Destiel storyline, which this story never fully explored. For those who were happy that this didn't really go into Destiel territory, yay! Feel free to insert the five month gap with whatever ship you want. It totes happened. And for those just plain old bored of the story, you too. But the rest of you can follow the story over to Proof Of Purchase. The story takes place in the five month gap shown here. _


End file.
